


Finger Painted Grace

by jupiter_james



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Art Student Castiel, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Blow Jobs, College AU, Demisexual Castiel, Human AU, M/M, No Angst AU, Non-Penetrative Sex, Tattoo Artist Dean Winchester, classmates to lovers, no tops or bottoms in this one, nude art, rage baking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-04 12:57:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12771567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jupiter_james/pseuds/jupiter_james
Summary: Art student Castiel Novak is struggling to solidify an idea for his BFA senior project incorporating painting and photography. Enter Dean Winchester, current MFA student, tattoo artist apprentice, and now, nude model for the figure drawing class. Suddenly, Castiel's vision for the perfect project springs to life in his mind. Full of wings, souls, and visible grace. Something he sees shining out of the outgoing tattoo artist like never before. All he needs to do now is convince Dean to let him paint on his body, and also somehow figure out what to do about the fledgling feelings he has for Dean that he didn't even think he was capable of before now.For the DCBB 2017!





	1. Chapter 01

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry to the [DCBB 2017](http://deancasbigbang.tumblr.com)!
> 
> First of all I need to thank my incredible artist, [labluekatt1721](https://labluekatt1721.livejournal.com/8185.html), who went hugely above and beyond with beautiful art for this fic! I love all of it! Thank you so very much for going the extra mile!
> 
> I would also like to thank my incredible beta and best friend, [ltleflrt](http://ltleflrt.tumblr.com)! She has been a constant support, even when I almost gave up on this fic, so she deserves a lot of the credit for it even existing!
> 
> Thank you so much, everyone, for another awesome DCBB year, and I hope you like this story!

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/106519177@N08/37705067005/in/dateposted-friend/)

Art by labluekatt1721

The gig is a lot of easy money, and Dean could use some money, but he also really should have thought this through some more. Charlie says it'll be great, Sam laughs for five whole minutes, and Dean says he'll do it to spite his brother. 

"Dude, come on, it's art."

"I'm a law student."

"'Cause you have no taste."

Sam shrugs. "I don't think I could be naked and stared at for two hours. Seems... weird. Even for art. Even for _you_."

Dean shrugs back. "Whatever. It's really not weird. There's like, three figure drawing classes every semester, all with nude models. I've already done mine, so this is good. I need some extra cash for more supplies, and I'll get some extra credit and shit on top of it."

Of course, that had been then, and now he's standing in front of twenty art students with nothing but a robe on, feeling... well, _naked_. He's never been on the other side of the canvas before. He even recognizes a few people from his other classes which makes it even _more_ awkward, but at least none of them are his friends. He doesn't want to know any of them _that_ well.

Dr. Donna Hanscum introduces him with her usual cheerful flair. "Good afternoon, everyone! Please welcome Dean Winchester, who will be helping us for the next few days on our figure drawings. Dean is beginning his Master's degree this year, so he knows all the ropes of figure drawing from his undergrad, so don't be shy." She gestures to the large wing backed leather chair in the center of the room, surrounded in a half circle by all of the easels. 

Well, now's the time. Taking a small breath to steady himself, Dean tosses off the robe and sits in the chair, thankful the room is warm. He sits straight, finds an innocuous splotch on the white brick walls to stare at, and waits.

Donna beams and claps her hands. "Now, feel free to ask him to pose any way you like. Once we've got something we can all agree on, though, that'll be his spot. Also, for the sake of a long sit, please respect Dean's physical comfort. Don't ask him to contort into a pretzel." She steps away, and Dean valiantly ignores all of the assessing eyes on him. He's not body shy; he appreciates the human form clothed or otherwise, aesthetically and respectfully in situations such as these, but it _is_ a bit more clinical than he expected.

A low, gravelly voice speaks up and Dean can't help but slide his gaze over. He really wishes he hadn't.

Castiel Novak stands up from his stool. "Dean, could you please rest your right elbow on the arm of the chair and prop your cheek on it?" He mimes the movement, placing his fist right under his cheekbone. 

Barely blinking, Dean complies. 

Castiel's eyes sweep over him, then he smiles, a tiny thing. "Thank you," he says, and sits back down.

Another student calls out, "would you mind propping your left ankle up on your knee?"

Dean does so, thankful for the opportunity to slouch a little. It's super comfortable sitting like a bored king on a throne. But it's not super comfortable being stared at by Castiel Novak. He's just... kinda strange. He shows up to classes in honest-to-God suits, with a tie - usually blue - and a weird trenchcoat. His hair is artfully tousled, and that's all there is to it. Most art students he's ever met make statements with their clothing and appearance. And that statement isn't usually "suburban dad." But he _does_ stand out because of it, and that's usually the point. Then again, most people assume he's in the psychology department or something. To each his own. In fact, it makes Dean smile a little the more he studies Castiel. If he didn't know better, he'd think the guy was using the real world's definition of "blending in" to completely stand out at the art school. There are rumors that he does it because he'd been raised in a religious commune, or strict faithful upbringing of some kind. That alone is enough to intrigue Dean, frankly.

But then his thoughts slip away into daydreaming, grocery lists, homework assignments, his tattoo designs.

About a half an hour in, they all begin to relax, and Dean is almost as comfortable as when he's home lounging on the couch in his boxers watching Netflix. The students start chatting every now and then, and some ask Dean's questions as well.

"What's your degree in?" someone asks.

Dean tries not to move too much as he answers. "Graphic design, but I've been apprenticing at a tattoo shop for a couple of years now, and I really hope to do that."

"I'm into graphic design, too," another guy - Gabriel, Dean thinks - says. "Any advice?"

"Take some coding classes, too," Dean answers. "You don't have to get a whole other degree or 'nothin, but do some, like HTML, CSS, stuff you can use on websites and shit. Minor in it, if you've got the time. Or take courses on Codeacademy. More than what you're required to do. You're more marketable if you can do the paint job and the engine, y'know?"

Gabriel makes a considering noise. "That's a good idea. I learned some on my own, and what's required, but I wanted to do more."

"Do it," Dean says. "You'll get ahead."

It's nice like this. Two hours seems to go by quickly. They take a fifteen minute break, and during that time Dean throws on is robe again, grabs a soda from the vending machine in the hall, and then walks around to see everyone's progress so far. Most of the students are milling around outside away from their easels, though Castiel is still sitting on his stool, watching Dean approach. "Hey," Dean says.

"Hello," Castiel greets primly. "Thank you for posing today."

Dean tips his shoulder up. "It's not so bad, actually. I'm kinda enjoying it." He gestures to Castiel's canvas. "Can I look?"

Castiel's brow furrows slightly, but he nods.

Dean sidles over and takes a peek. His eyes widen. "Wow."

It's definitely _him_ , but it's also... not. Castiel's been able to lay down a rough outline for most of his body and part of the chair, but has gone into a little more detail on the head. The graphite face looks... intense. And Dean's positive he didn't look like _that_ when he was posing. Something about the light lines make him appear... sexual. Is that how Castiel sees him? He'd actually like to ask, but he refrains from embarrassing either of them in favor of saying, "you covered me in tattoos."

Castiel inches closer to his side. "They're not, really. I mean, sort of."

There are looping lines and swirls over Dean's whole body, down to his feet. With symbols, or runes, or something. They're incredible. "What are they, then?"

Castiel scratches at his nose, leaving a graphite smudge behind. "Your soul."

"Huh," Dean says, intrigued despite himself. "Really? You think it's that... impressive?"

Those ocean blue eyes are fixed on his face again. "I don't know," he says softly. "Yet." Dean feels caught in his gaze, but it's not bad. There's definitely something about Castiel that tugs at him. He leans forward slightly, unsure, but then the spell is broken.

Donna claps her hands. "It's time to get back to work. Dean, are you ready?"

"Yeah," he calls over. Then he glances back to Castiel. "I'd like to see that when it's done." Then he trots back to the chair, swings his arms in a windmill to get out the last of the stiffness, strips, and gets back into his pose.

The second hour is much like the first, though Dean is now much more aware of Castiel's eyes on him. It doesn't make him feel self-conscious, though. It actually makes him feel pretty good. Attractive in a way that he's never felt before. He's not self-deprecating enough to call himself attractive; he knows he is. But Castiel doesn't have that _hunger_ in his eyes that all the other people who have seen him naked have had. Castiel is looking at him in a considering way like someone would peer at a particularly lovely painting with. Dean finds that he really enjoys it.

Afterwards, when the students have started leaving with calls of "thanks for today" and "see you Wednesday," Dr. Hanscum hands Dean his bundle of clothes and he slips his boxers on under the robe and then pulls it off to put his jeans and t-shirt on. By the time he's got his flannel, leather jacket, socks, and boots on, the room is empty except for the professor. "Thank you for your help today," she says. "You did great."

Dean grins. "Yeah, it was actually pretty fun. I took a look at the drawings at the break. They're really good. You've got a great crop this year."

"Unlike you," she says teasingly, nodding over her shoulder for Dean to follow her back to her office off of the studio. He does and she offers him a cup of coffee. "If I remember right, you drew in some big, bubbly anime style."

"That's where I was at during that time in my life," Dean says unrepentantly, taking his coffee black.

"You could have at least made her breasts a more realistic size," she points out.

He laughs. "Maybe. I've experimented with a lot of styles since then. I gotta do as much as I can if I want to be a tattoo artist."

She kicks her feet up on the table. "How's that working out for you?"

"I love it. There's something about making art that people will wear for the rest of their lives. I think it's what I was meant to do."

Donna nods, smiling brightly. "That's the most important thing. All the education in the world isn't gonna pay for happiness. And your style is so fluid, you'll be tops at all kinds of designs."

Dean finishes his mug and sets it on the desk. "Thanks for not making fun of me for wasting my time and talent, or whatever."

She shrugs. "You're doing art and it's making you happy. The heck have I got to make fun of you about? I'm not some fancy-pants critic with her head so far up her keister she can't tell art from mess. Art's the intent, not the thing itself, necessarily. Or don't you remember a thing I taught you?"

"Just making sure," Dean winks. "Thanks." He stands, brushing his jeans off. "See you Wednesday."

"Take care, Dean-o."

He slings his messenger bag over his shoulder and takes a slow stroll into the hall. There are still some students milling around, but the building is mostly empty now that it's getting on dinner time. Always hungry himself, Dean crosses the grassy quad to the student center and the glorious fast food and cafeteria options there. And as soon as he walks in, he sees Castiel sitting by himself at one of the tables in the middle of the dining hall, trench coat folded carefully on the seatback, small sketchbook open on the table in front of him, sandwich and coffee pushed to the side, forgotten.

Dean eyes him, the way he's squinting down at the paper as he scribbles. It's kinda... cute? Yeah, kinda cute. 

Watching him the whole way, Dean scoots over to the taco stand and orders four of the overstuffed tacos with the largest soda. He carries his spoils over to Castiel's table and stands opposite the undergrad.

Castiel doesn't seem to notice him, so Dean plunks his tray down onto the table unceremoniously. 

He doesn't so much as glance up or slow down his sketching. "Hello again, Dean Winchester, BFA, MFA."

Dean grins. "Easy there, tiger. I haven't graduated yet."

"You will," he says in a flat, serious monotone. "Your art is awe-inspiring."

Dean chuckles. "Don't sound so excited about it."

Castiel finally looks up, staring unblinkingly at Dean. "It is, though. It's why..." he breaks off, scratching his nose, embarrassed, leaving another streak of graphite behind. "It's why I'm painting you like I am."

"Huh." Dean slides into the empty chair and loads a bunch of salsa and guacamole on top of his tacos. "What do you see in my art, Cas?"

Castiel squints at him. "Do you have any tattoos I'm not aware of?"

"Gonna answer my question?"

"Are you going to answer _mine_?"

"Eventually."

Castiel rolls his eyes and sits back in his seat. He studies Dean carefully, eyes roaming over the parts he can see over the table. Dean lets him, for some reason he can't understand, not at all uncomfortable being checked out. In fact, he takes his time watching Castiel right back. It's interesting that he can't really read the guy's face for his intentions. But he does know that whatever Castiel is seeing is more than simple curiosity, less than real attraction. Frankly, Dean hopes he passes whatever the assessment is. He wants to know. So he holds still and keeps silent. Rare for him, but worth it. "I see your soul," Castiel says, finally. "Or the manifestation of it."

"No tattoos" Dean says in fair trade. "Not yet. I'm planning one, though."

Carefully, Castiel closes his sketchbook and pushes it to the side, placing his pencil on top of it. "Dean... I'd like to paint on you."

Dean arches an eyebrow. "You _are_ painting me. In class."

" _On_ you," Castiel stresses.

Dean leans forward. "What do you mean by that?" He figures a normal person would be embarrassed by what Castiel is saying, however the guy looks anything but. It's too intriguing for Dean to brush off. Hell, most art students are weird in some way or another. And he's digging the weird.

Castiel squints without blinking like he's seeing Dean for the first time. "Are you serious?"

Dean leans back in his chair, grinning. "What?"

He drags out a hum. "You _actually_ want to know?"

Dean swipes a couple fries from Castiel's plate. They're cold and oily. He eats them anyway. "I asked you, didn't I?"

Castiel's eyebrows tip up. "You're not going to call me a freak?"

He shrugs. "Never said I wouldn't. But not right now. Art's weird, right? Most of us are freaks in one way or another. I'm just curious why I've become a part of your vision."

Castiel considers this, nodding several times. "How honest am I allowed to be here?"

"Hundred percent," Dean assures him, holding up his hand in a Scout's honor salute. "I can go first if it makes you feel better."

A genuine smile spreads over Castiel's face, deepening his dimples and making him look boyish. Something clenches in Dean's chest and he really wants to see that smile about a million more times. "You're pretty weird, too."

"Why else would I be going for a fucking Master's in art? Tell me your vision." 

Castiel slides his sketchbook around to face Dean and pushes it across the table. Dean inclines his head towards it asking silent permission. Castiel gestures to it and sets about eating his sandwich.

Dean turns the pages slowly. Six pages. None of the drawings are finished; in fact, most don't have anything at all besides outlines and rough faces. Or. One face. The same face Dean sees in the mirror every morning. His face. But his face isn't the most important thing. The sketches are a little like the painting. What he assumes to be his "soul" spidering up his arms and legs almost like his veins, but more intricate. Beautiful. It sends a curl of heat right to his face and the back of his neck. He's not as beautiful as Castiel sees him. "My dick's bigger than this," he quips, closing the book and pushing it back, hoping his face isn't obviously burning red.

Castiel chuckles, unperturbed. "I didn't exactly measure it."

"What's all this for?" Dean asks, tapping his finger on the sketchbook.

"My senior project," Castiel answers, which certainly isn't surprising since he's so laser focused on it, like he's testing the waters to see how much momentum his idea has. If it's big enough to spotlight everything he's learned in his degree track. "I thought I was gonna fail it until today."

Dean blinks. Castiel's admittance makes so little sense, it almost doesn't compute. "Dude, how?" Dean says. "This idea of a visible soul? Grace? It's actually super cool."

"Thank you," he says humbly. "But I didn't see it until you."

"So tell me the vision," Dean says, ignoring the "until you" part since he's not ready to process it.

"I'm religious," Castiel blurts loudly. A few heads turn towards them, and then away.

"Uh."

He grimaces and ducks his head, realizing how much volume he'd spoken with. At a more reasonable level, he says, "well, not _religious_ religious anymore, but I'm faithful. Like. I mean. I have faith in God. Or a higher power or whatever. Like. I believe in life after death and absolution and life that goes beyond us, and I guess... I mean." He's bright red. 

Dean reaches across the table and gently takes Castiel's wrist. Castiel startles at the touch. "You're strangling your sandwich."

Castiel drops it to the plate. "Sorry," he mutters, bright blue eyes open as wide as they can get. He looks completely shellshocked.

Dean gives him an encouraging pat and then releases his hand. "Look, is this senior project some sort of way to work out a past trauma or something? Not like I'm trying to pry or anything, but lots of people work through shit with their art, and the way you're rambling... I dunno. You don't have to tell me if you don't want."

Castiel considers him, his expression gradually relaxing. "A little bit. Not super original, huh?" His gaze falls to his sketchbook. His lips twist slightly. "Stupid."

"It's not," Dean objects firmly. "The reason doesn't have to be original. Just the way you express it. It's gonna be mixed media, right? Painting and photography?"

"Yes," Castiel confirms. "I mean, if you want to help, then I want to explain it to you. No pressure."

Dean kicks his feet up into the chair next to him in a casual sprawl. "I'm down with promoting anyone's vision. And I'm serious about not pushing for the whole sordid tale. Clearly you've got some pretty serious crap going on with the religious faithful thing. That's fine. Doesn't turn me off or nothin'."

"I appreciate that. It's just... this is a fine arts school, you know?"

"I noticed," Dean chuckles.

"Then you've probably also noticed how young liberal minds aren't so fond of religion. Or people who believe in God."

Tilting his head to the side, Dean agrees. "True. So why are you faithful, but not religious anymore?"

That seems to surprise Castiel for a moment for some reason. "Aren't you going to ask me why I'm dumb enough to believe in God?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"'Cause I don't think it's dumb. I think it's comforting for like, billions of people around the world. Who am I to judge? I mean, I kind of _hope_ there's some big 'ol dad in the sky waiting to judge my sins against the weight of a feather when I kick the bucket."

"I'm not straight," Castiel says just as bluntly as he'd made his first admission. "That's what happened."

Dean's eyes widen for a beat. Then his grin turns wolfish. "That's not the worst news I've ever heard."

Castiel's smile is back slightly more genuine again. "Took me a long time to figure it all out. At first I thought I was gay since I'd never felt any sort of attraction towards women. So I assumed I was attracted to men. Until I wasn't. I wasn't..." he trails off and shrugs helplessly. "I was nothing, I thought."

He seems disinclined to say anything else, but Dean knows there's more. A _lot_ more, so he prompts, "but?"

Castiel squints at him, Dean kinda liking the way his nose wrinkles. He doesn't mean to push, but he honestly feels like Castiel has been waiting for someone to open up to all this time. It would explain why he'd practically yelled it before. It would also explain his senior project.

So Dean waits him out.

Eventually, Castiel's tensions eases, and he continues. "But then I met someone. My first roommate freshman year. We talked a lot. Studied the same courses. Had meals together. I got to know him. _Really_ know him. And I found that the more I got to know him..."

_Now_ it's starting to get interesting. Dean leans forward over the table. "The more you wanted to fuck him?"

"Yeah," Castiel says honestly. "Very much so."

Dean laughs delightedly. "So, you discovered you're demisexual. Congrats!"

Castiel chuckles, relaxing even more. "Okay, fine. Yes. So, naturally I researched it because I'm a giant nerd, if you haven't already noticed. And I discovered a lot about sexuality that I'd never known before. I told my parents."

Dean winces.

"It's not what you're thinking," Castiel hastens to assure him. "They were completely supportive. People are people to them. They never believed that God would care about anyone's sexuality." He hangs his head. "The rest of the church, however..."

"Oh," Dean says weakly.

"Oh," Castiel echoes grimly. "I think they were wrong. It's only getting worse, too. There are lots of Christians who have actually read the Bible and follow the teachings like they should. Love thy neighbor and all that. Peaceful people are quiet. Soft." He brushes his hand absently over his sketchbook with a sigh. "But zealots are always louder. Hateful. So as a whole, my family separated from all of that. I preferred to believe what I always had. Humans have no right to judge who will and won't go to Hell. That's not our place. I have faith. No one is going to change that."

Dean's almost ashamed to admit he never thought so hard about his own project last year. "So, what? You're illustrating those who rise above? Faith despite religion?"

Castiel tilts his head from side to side. "Yes. This project is about that struggle. Our souls, the grace we're given, the struggle to believe it when it's much more popular to drag it down or let the hateful people win. I just... I want to show everyone how beautiful faith can be. Faith in _anything_ outside of themselves. Few people have that these days. We're all so selfish."

"I know," Dean says softly. "And... I'm sorry for what you've been through, Cas. I ain't gonna judge you for anything you believe or don't believe. No one knows what happens after we die. So, for real, what I think isn't any more factual than what you do. But I gotta ask; why am I your canvas? Why's it me who's gonna be the vision of your struggle? It's an honor, dude, but I don't understand why it's me."

"I don't know," Castiel admits, looking a private mixture of surprised and pleased that Dean hasn't just brushed him off. Clearly the guy has had poor assumptions made of him because of his faith in the past, if the relief plain in his smile is any indication. Which sucks to see so plainly how much he's been through. "I just saw you and it clicked. It was like I was flooded with visions of how I wanted it to look. The whole thing. I saw it so clearly with you. I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable."

Swirling his coke around in the cup, Dean shrugs. "You really didn't. I'm interested, man. If I can help, then I'm in. Obviously I'm into body art anyway, considering I'm a tattoo artist. What's the plan?"

A sudden light in his eyes, Castiel truly puts his lunch out of his mind and surges forward, mirroring Dean's position. "Well, it's a lot like what you saw in my painting. I want to paint my vision on your body and photograph the results. All kinds of poses; I haven't decided which yet. We'll get there. Whatever you're comfortable with. Do you mind being fully nude? I prefer it to be that way. Nothing overtly sexual, you understand, though I do want _some_ level of sexual tones to it because that's a major reason for this project coming to fruition."

Grinning wider and wider, Dean says, "pump the breaks for a sec there, Cas."

Castiel pulls back on the blabbering so quickly that he makes a small gulping sound. He clears his throat. "I apologize. You don't want to."

"I _do_ want to," Dean counters. "It sounds really cool, honestly. I'll help out."

"You will?" His expression is like the sun breaking through the clouds. Dean can't help but feel touched. "I could pay you for your time and effort."

Waving the suggestion off, Dean starts on the rest of his meal. "Aren't you a poor college student like me?"

"Yes. But I'm capable of paying you at least minimum wage."

"Don't even worry about it. For real. You're not taking me away from anything else that I can't just reschedule."

Castiel pulls his plate back over, suddenly ravenous. Dean watches him eat with rapt attention. "Thank you," he says, mouth full.

"Happy to help. Plus, it was a good opportunity to finally talk to you. Always wanted to."

Castiel pauses with his sandwich halfway to his mouth. "Oh?"

"Yeah," Dean admits easily. "You seemed like the kind of strange I'd want to get to know better."

"Are you flirting with me?" Castiel asks with that adorable squint again. "I should tell you that I'm very bad at discerning flirtatious overtures."

"I'm not," Dean says breezily. "Not yet, anyway."

Chuckling, Castiel holds up his paper cup of soda. "To hopefully becoming strange friends," he deadpans.

Dean taps the rim of his cup to Castiel's. "Right on."


	2. Chapter 02

As it turns out, Castiel isn't one to waste time. He exchanges phone numbers with Dean and texts him the next morning. They arrange to meet the following evening, and Dean can't help but feel a thrill of nervous excitement at being Castiel's muse. Of course, he tells no one, _especially_ Sam, in part because he doesn't want the teasing, and another part because he's enjoying the stubborn pleasure at having a secret with Castiel. It's stupid, and he knows it, but he likes it anyway.

And Castiel's nervous, beaming smile is something to behold when Dean shows up for their first session.

"Welcome," Castiel says, stepping out of the doorway to let Dean inside.

It's a nice house. In the historic district, two stories with a basement, bright and decorated with framed pictures and paintings absolutely everywhere. It reminds Dean of his grandparents' home with the outdated furniture. Dean removes his jacket and Castiel takes it to hang in the hall closet. "You live with your parents?" he asks.

"No," Castiel smiles. "I live with my older brother. This house used to belong to my grandmother, but he inherited it when she died, and since it's a convenient location, I live here now, too. It's nice because the mortgage has been paid off for years, so we only have to cover utility bills and repairs."

"Lucky break," Dean says. "The rest of your family's not from around here, I take it?"

"They live in Washington," he confirms. "They moved there shortly after I was born and my dad got offered a lucrative job." He leads Dean back to the kitchen where there's a fresh pot of coffee waiting. "Gabriel moved back here to take care of my grandmother so she wouldn't have to uproot to a nursing home when she refused to live in Seattle so my parents could help out." He hands a full mug of the dark brew to Dean and gestures to the cream and sugar on the counter.

Dean forgoes them to take his black. "So, you gonna stay here when you graduate, or go back?"

"I'm not sure," Castiel admits. "I don't necessarily feel any particular draw anywhere. I don't need to live near my family to feel close to them. I suppose I'll see what opportunities are available once I graduate." Dean nods, and after a moment of quiet contemplation, Castiel continues, "I'd like to avoid large cities, though. I wouldn't mind living near one, but not in one. I've learned to appreciate the silence at night."

Dean grins. "You realize that in your kind of career path, a city might be inevitable."

Castiel's nose scrunches. "I know. But I can hope to get lucky, can't I?"

Snorting at the double meaning that Castiel seems to have missed, he says, "sure you can."

Satisfied with the small talk out of the way, Castiel nods over his shoulder. "I'll show you the studio."

"You have a whole studio?" Dean demands, not bothering to hide the jealousy lacing his tone.

"It's just the finished part of the basement, but yes," Castiel answers. "It's easier to spread out down there and I can spill all the paint I want to without worrying." He opens a door hiding a set of wooden stairs, and flips the light switch on the wall. They descend the stairs, and despite being a relatively small room, it's an awesome set up.

The floor and walls are all concrete, painted white. Paint splatters adorn the sturdy wood craft tables lining two of the back walls, as well as plenty of places on the floor. There's a backdrop curtain hanging from the ceiling by another wall with a tripod and lights and everything. That side of the room is much cleaner than the rest which is scattered with easels, canvases, paint cans, brushes, pencils; you name it, it's laying around somewhere haphazardly.

"This is where we'll be working," Castiel says somewhat needlessly. He points to the wall beside the door. "The thermostat is there, so you can set it at whatever temperature you feel most comfortable. Dean..." he shifts from foot to foot nervously. "I want to be perfectly clear on this. There's an... intimacy to this project. We don't know each other well; I realize that. So, please tell me if any of it makes you uncomfortable, and we'll work out something else. Originally I had envisioned working on this project with a significant other, but that wasn't to be."

Casually, Dean leans back against the nearest craft table. "Your boyfriend didn't want to do it?" he asks, ignoring the slight pang of ridiculous jealousy.

"Ah," Castiel colors. "I don't... that is... um, there's no one. I dated someone briefly last semester, but he wouldn't have been right for this, anyway."

Dean won't lie to himself and pretend that's not the best indirect compliment he's ever received. He preens a bit on the inside. "I told you I'm cool with it, and I mean it. You just tell me what you need me to do, and I'll do it."

That seems to ease Castiel somewhat, though he's clearly not used to having a real live model to boss around. But he starts to warm up slowly. "Maybe some test photos today? I want to experiment with... well, with your body, really." He flushes a little.

Dean laughs, not even bothering to ignore the double meaning. "Dude, you've seen every freaking inch of it in fluorescent lighting. You wanna get me naked again, just say the word!"

Flushing deeper, Castiel's eyes flick towards the floor and he mutters, "yes, well, you weren't so _up close _before. Perhaps we should just start with your shirt."__

__"Whatever creams your Twinkie," Dean says magnanimously, cutting the guy some slack because he's awfully hot when he blushes._ _

__"Shirt off, then," Castiel says softly, still staring at the floor._ _

__"Where should I sit or stand?"_ _

__This time Castiel does actually glance around. "It would be best for you to sit on that stool over on the backdrop. Pose doesn't matter. Just sit how you would naturally."_ _

__Dean whips his shirt off without preamble, hoping his casual demeanor will set Castiel further at ease. Then he saunters over to the stool under the bright, warm overhead lighting, and sits, knees spread slightly, hands braced against the top of it, leaning forward. "What kind of mood are you going for?"_ _

__Castiel back steps towards the craft tables, and his assortment of paints and brushes. "As many as we can," he admits. "Though, there are several that I'd like to touch on eventually. But I prefer to let it all come naturally. You're quite expressive, so the more we do, the more I'm sure that you'll give me plenty to work with."_ _

__Dean winks. "Damn right I will."_ _

__Considering him, Castiel approaches with his palette and a handful of brushes tucked between his fingers. "Do you have any preferences for how I touch you?"_ _

__"I'm sorry?" Dean quirks an eyebrow._ _

__"Ah, I mean, I'm fine using brushes to paint on you, but it might be more organic if I used my fingers."_ _

__Said in such a clinical way, Dean can't help but be completely charmed. "Either way you like. I'm not exactly body shy."_ _

__"Yes, but..."_ _

__Dean rolls his shoulders, noticing the way that Castiel's eyes rove over him. His gaze isn't exactly sexual, but it _is_ hungry. "Don't overthink it, Cas. It should actually be easier since we're not together, or whatever. I'm just your canvas here. Use it. Make something beautiful."_ _

__Heartened, Castiel straightens his shoulders and negligently tosses the paint brushes over his shoulder. They clatter to the concrete, highlighting Dean's laughter. Then he circles him, contemplative. Dean remains silent and still, letting Castiel do what he needs to do. It's working. Gradually, the self-consciousness leaves and his eyes soften to a more natural once-over. Every time his orbit passes in front of Dean, he looks a bit more confident. Until finally he muses, "I think we should experiment a little. Can you sit up straight? Arms at your sides."_ _

__Happily, Dean pulls his shoulders back, still relaxed, but unslouched._ _

__Almost absently, Castiel dips his pointer finger into the paint on his palette, mixing with barely a glance at the color. He steps behind Dean again and there's nothing. No more footsteps. Dean can't hear anything, but he remains still, breathing modulated. The first swipe of Castiel's finger straight down his spine makes him jump and yelp a combination shout/giggle that has Castiel pulling away immediately._ _

__"Sorry!" Castiel gasps._ _

__"No, man, sorry! Sorry. I... wow, I didn't realize. I think I'm kinda ticklish?"_ _

__There's a nervous laugh over his shoulder. "How did you get to your twenties without knowing whether or not you were ticklish?"_ _

__Dean shakes out his shoulders, still strangely tingly from the touch. "I dunno. No one's ever touched me like that before."_ _

__"Will you be able to do this?" Castiel asks. Dean's not sure he likes the tiny note of disappointed resignation that he hears._ _

__"Yes!" he insists, slightly too loudly. "I can do it. Just... maybe for the time being... use a firmer hand?"_ _

__"Like this?" The next strip begins at the divot in his lower back up to the bottom of his shoulder blade. It still tickles, but Castiel presses down enough that it's more... okay, yes, Dean will admit that the sensation, as professional as it is, is kinda sorta turning him on. "Your skin is really warm," Castiel murmurs._ _

___Uh, oh._ Suddenly Dean's in serious danger of tenting his jeans. He can't help the fact that he's a sexual guy, really. He enjoys bodies. Aesthetically, physically, all the time. He enjoys touching bodies, and being touched in return. But since he's usually the one doing the touching, he hasn't been in this vulnerable position before. He likes it a lot. _ _

__Time for a distraction. Clearing his throat, he says, "y'know, it just occurred to me that this is sort of like what I do for a living."_ _

__The nice sensation of cold paint on warm fingers disappears again. "Oh? Oh! Yes, I suppose it would be a little similar. You tattooing and all. What's that like, anyway? Do you really enjoy it?"_ _

__"Sure as shit do," Dean agrees, relieved that Castiel seems interested enough to distract Dean from his own libido. "Creating permanent art on people is really cool. Lots of trust in that, y'know?"_ _

__Two more stripes right over his shoulders. With his mind semi-occupied, Dean muses that this is more reminiscent of a massage than anything else. "So, what happens when someone wants a tattoo that you just _know_ they'll regret later?"_ _

__Dean stifles his chuckle in the interest of not moving and messing Castiel up. "Well, most of those people are usually drunk and think getting a dick tattooed on their hand or something is just a _swell_ idea. But if you're noticeably intoxicated, I won't do it. It's in the release form they sign since alcohol thins the blood. But also, we just don't want people making pretty permanent decisions when they're sauced. I mean, lots of shops will look the other way because money's money, but the one I work at isn't like that. Cain, the guy who owns the place, has been doing it for decades now, and his reputation is world-wide. He'll straight up refuse any work that he thinks is stupid, no matter how sober the person is."_ _

__He can hear the smile in his voice when Castiel says, "everyone has standards. It's good to feel comfortable refusing art that you don't want to make."_ _

__"Yeah. I'm more lenient than him. I've done a few tats that people probably shouldn't have got and will definitely regret later, but that's their problem. Of course, I'd refuse to do something that was offensive. Like, I won't ink a swastika or nothin'. But most other stuff I'll do unless Cain tells me directly not to."_ _

__"I think that's okay, too," Castiel says. He paints down the back of Dean's right arm. The sensation rises goosebumps over him, but if Castiel notices, he ignores it. "Why don't you have any tattoos?"_ _

__"I'm planning one," Dean says. "Big one. I've been designing it forever now. But I want Cain to do it, and he's pretty booked all the time. It'll be a process. Lots of sitting time, few months, probably."_ _

__"That's amazing," Castiel breathes, sounding impressed. "Would you show me the design sometime?"_ _

__He doesn't know why he's so surprised about that, but he is. "Sure."_ _

__Bolder now, Castiel drags two fingers from each hand in a straight line down from between Dean's shoulder blades, to the base of his ribs. It feels amazing. "For what it's worth, I'm glad you don't have tattoos right now. They would have altered my ability to paint on you."_ _

__"I could'a covered them. There's lots of good makeup for that sort of thing."_ _

__"Still. However, I'm conflicted."_ _

__"Why?"_ _

__Castiel moves around to Dean's front. The calculated look in his blue eyes momentarily steals Dean's breath. "You're a beautiful canvas," he says with certainty. "You look transcendental with art on you."_ _

__Dean dips his head and he can see that the flush has spread all the way down to his chest. "Thanks," he mumbles._ _

__"It's my pleasure," Castiel says sincerely._ _

__***_ _

__At home later that night, Dean can still feel Castiel's phantom hands on him. He'd showered before leaving, watching the blue and green paint swirl down the drain with longing. After the initial awkwardness, the session had gone so smoothly. They'd talked a lot about mundane subjects, then had fallen into silence. It hadn't been awkward in the slightest. Castiel had finished off by taking several photographs that he said he'd use to decide how he wanted to proceed, and then thanked Dean with an air of formality for his time and patience._ _

__Now, laying in bed staring at the beams of light from passing cars flickering above him, Dean worries that he might have gotten in over his head. Literally exposing himself means nothing. He can take people studying his body no problem. It's the way that Castiel looks at him, though. Like he sees something beyond the visible. And how he'd said that no one else could do the project. It makes Dean feel like there's something else inside him. Something like a soul. He rubs at his sternum absently, not totally believing it's a foolish thought._ _

__It's a lot to process._ _

__The part that worries him is how _willing_ he is to process it._ _

__And also how easily everyone else around him seems to notice._ _

__Sam says nothing over breakfast, though he keeps giving his older brother strange looks until the second he leaves for his mid-morning lecture._ _

__It must keep showing, because Dean is four hours into his shift at the tattoo parlor when Cain looks up from his laptop and says, "tell me who it is."_ _

__They're in the waiting area lounging on the plush couches since the daytime hours on weekdays are slow. Dean stops sketching his personal tattoo design in his sketchbook and eyes his boss. "What?"_ _

__Cain gives him a steady, piercing stare. "You heard me."_ _

__"Yeah, but I don't understand the question."_ _

__Cain rolls his eyes. "Dense when you want to be, as always. Who did you meet that's got you mooning all over the place?"_ _

__Dean sighs through his nose. Might as well go for broke since it's not in Cain's nature to leave him alone. "Some guy at the university."_ _

__Cain's eyebrows shoot up and then he starts laughing loud and deep. "Shit, I was just _guessing_!"_ _

__"No, you weren't, you're fuckin' psychic," Dean grumbles. "Why the hell are you laughing at me?"_ _

__Cain shoots him a shit eating grin. "I'm not sure I'm ready for my little Dean to grow up."_ _

__"Dude, I'm twenty-six," he says flatly._ _

__"Age ain't nothing but a number for you. You've been scared of relationships your whole life."_ _

__"Didn't say anything about _that_ ," Dean answers, turning back to his sketchbook._ _

__"Your _mouth_ didn't," Cain stresses._ _

__"Don't you have payroll to process?" He's being petulant and he knows it._ _

__Cain leans back, bracing his hands behind his head. "You're serious about this one."_ _

__"I'm nothing about this one."_ _

__"Not yet."_ _

__"Not yet," Dean agrees begrudgingly._ _

__The admission pleases Cain to no end. He remains beaming and occasionally glancing at Dean like a proud father every few minutes, even though he normally insists that payroll sucks away a bit of his life every week._ _

__Thankfully, it's only an hour before a customer comes in and demands Cain's time, who in turn demands Dean's time, who in turn doesn't have to dwell on whatever burgeoning crush he has going on. He doesn't want to lose it. The only option is playing it cool._ _

__Which is easier said than done, of course. The next posing session at the school is hard to get through. Three people have to tell him to please stop wiggling around, and Castiel's eyes almost never waver. Doesn't help that Dean keeps getting drawn back to him, barely blinking as he stares._ _

__Donna notices something because she pulls him aside during the first break after he's tossed on a robe._ _

__"Something eatin' at ya, Dean-o?" she asks, handing him a cup of coffee and closing her office door._ _

__"Nah," Dean answers, sipping at it to warm up. "Just antsy, I guess."_ _

__She nods like she doesn't believe him. Then, true to form, comes right out with it. "You uncomfortable with posing?"_ _

__"No, no way!" he hastens to assure her. "It's fine. Seriously. There's just a lot on my mind, is all. Nothing to do with this class." _Just someone in it_ , his mind unhelpfully adds._ _

__"I'm not a counselor, but is there anything I can help with?"_ _

__It's said with such concern, that Dean smiles automatically. Dr. Hanscum always was his favorite. "I appreciate it, but it's nothing major."_ _

__She believes him and says so. He finishes his coffee and returns to the classroom where most of the students are filing in again. The first break is only fifteen minutes, but the second is a half hour. He plans to take advantage of the time to get another look at Castiel's work. Figure stuff out. Maybe he's so caught up in a crush because it's an enigma. He knows a bit about why Castiel has chosen his particular project, but it's still pretty nebulous in Dean's mind. He needs some of the nitty gritty. To _really_ see what Castiel sees and why he sees it that way. Concrete concepts are a lot less romantic._ _

__Fate decides to fool him again, though. Castiel waves him over while he's putting on his robe for the second break, and Dean approaches his station, smiling. "Progress?"_ _

__"Lots," Castiel answers excitedly. He moves to the side and Dean takes his place directly in front of the canvas._ _

__"Wow, shit," Dean breathes._ _

__Castiel's filled in a lot more detail now. Everything from the waist down is still only light outlines, but from the torso up, Dean's _amazing _. He hadn't realized, but Castiel is going for absolute realism with the added flare of "grace" lines. It's incredible. Even though it's far from done, Castiel has already started to paint some of the grace lines in green. At least the ones that won't screw up other colors that should be under them. Speaking before thinking, Dean says, "you make me look like so much more than I am."___ _

____Castiel doesn't answer. In fact, he holds his silence for so long that Dean finally glances over. He's startled by the anger he sees there in Castiel's deep frown. "That's not true at all."_ _ _ _

____Shoving his embarrassment off with levity, Dean waves towards the drawing. "Dude, you made me look like some sort of demigod here."_ _ _ _

____"That's not true, either," Castiel says stubbornly._ _ _ _

____Dean switches his focus from the canvas to Cas. Cas to canvas. "I'm not seeing what you're seeing," he finally says with a wry smile._ _ _ _

____While it doesn't totally disappear, Castiel's scowl does ease. "Well, that's because you don't know anything about souls."_ _ _ _

____"Got me there," he agrees._ _ _ _

____Castiel tilts his head slightly to the side. "I hope we can both learn more about it during this project," he says with an air of assurance._ _ _ _

____Dean's grin is quick and genuine. "That'd be awesome." He means it._ _ _ _


	3. Chapter 03

Sam is really talented at eating a salad passive-aggressively. Dean marvels at it, to be honest. And he lets his brother do it because Sam thinks he'll lose if he has to be the first to speak. Which he does. Every freaking time.

"Gabriel says you're doing porn," he finally bursts out with.

Dean chokes on his chicken thanks to the sudden laugh that bubbles up. But it ceases when Sam doesn't join in. "Come on," Dean laments. "Really?"

"Gabriel said-"

"There's your problem," Dean cuts in. "Gabriel couldn't tell the truth if it was shoved down his throat. I'm doing an art shoot, and it's not for money, it's for a school project. Also, how the hell does he know about it, anyway?"

"Because he lives in the house you're supposedly doing it at," Sam answers.

Dean shakes his head. "Wait, what? No, man, I was at Castiel's house."

"Castiel Novak?"

"Uh, yeah?"

Sam bursts out a short, relieved huff of almost-laughter. "Dude, Castiel is Gabriel's brother. Jesus, he was just messing with me."

Rolling his eyes, Dean says, "what do you even see in him?"

"I'm not always sure," Sam admits in his flattering self-deprecation. "There's gotta be something, right?"

"If you say so," Dean mumbles around his food.

"So, then, what's this photo shoot? Suddenly can't get enough of being naked? Three hours wasn't enough, so now it's half the day?"

Dean throws a tater tot at his brother's head. "Fuck off, no. I'm helping Cas with his senior project."

That surprises Sam. "I didn't think you even knew him."

He shrugs. "I didn't. Not really. I knew _of_ him, but hadn't talked to him or anything until the figure drawing class. He's pretty cool."

Sam smirks. "'Pretty cool?'" he echoes. "That's practically proposing marriage in Dean Winchester-ese."

"Dude," Dean scoffs. "What, I'm not allowed to have any friends?"

"Sure you are." Sam shrugs. "But you don't."

He can't really argue with that. Dean has about two settings. One: flirt with person until person says they're not interested, then have a somewhat argumentative yet not completely antagonistic relationship forevermore. Two: fuck person. He wracks his brain for any other scenarios, but there aren't any. Jesus, he's kind of a dick. But he can do better. He's capable of making friends if he actually tries. He can do that with Castiel. Well. If he can get some lid on the Option Two feelings he's currently experiencing for him.

***

"You look tired," Castiel notes as soon as he opens the door for Dean.

"Didn't sleep all that well," Dean answers, stepping inside. 

"We could postpone," Castiel offers like he really doesn't want to.

Dean doesn't want to, either. "It's fine. I have days like this all the damn time. Too late at work and a little wired after drinking coffee too late. I'm cool. I like being here."

Castiel smiles exactly as though he has no idea what that's like. Dean wouldn't be surprised if that's the case. Castiel seems like the type who does everything on time or ahead of time. Senior projects aren't due for months, and even though they're pretty substantial, no one really starts theirs so soon. And he further confirms Dean's suspicions when he says, "I don't have many late nights, except some weekends when I get in an art groove. I can't function on too little sleep."

"Me, either. Got any reclining positions you could photograph me in?" Dean chuckles.

It's a joke, but Castiel tilts his head in contemplation. "We could do that. Yes, actually. That would be perfect. The loveseat in the basement. We can move it to the backdrop. Let's do that."

Dean chuckles again and shrugs, trotting after Castiel down the basement steps.

Clearly the guy's been busy over the past couple of days. He's pulled one of the craft tables closer to the backdrop, and it's spread out with his paints. Together they drag the faux leather loveseat into position. 

"How naked do you want me?" Dean asks flippantly.

"However you're comfortable," Castiel answers seriously, though his lips tip up slightly and his eyes warm.

Dean strips off his shirt and decides to go for broke, kicking off his shoes, socks, and then moves to undo his belt. He raises an eyebrow at Castiel for confirmation. Castiel takes a tiny step back, nodding. Seconds later, Dean's in nothing but his boxer briefs. Castiel's gaze sweeps over him, and if Dean's not mistaken, it appears as though it's not as clinical as it was the day before or in class. Now they’re getting somewhere.

"You have a picture perfect body," Castiel notes.

Dean laughs. "Good, 'cause that'll be important here."

Castiel makes a face like he's constipated. "I'm trying not to objectify you."

Well, _that's_ fun. Dean's pretty sure Castiel doesn't fully understand how wide open he leaves himself. He collapses back onto the couch, striking an evocative pose, arms splayed over his head on the armrest, knees bent to put his crotch on display. "Draw me like one of your French girls, Cas."

"That's a terrible joke," Castiel mutters, bright red, swinging around to the table.

Dean laughs for a solid minute, then arranges himself into a more demure sprawl. That reaction had been so much better than expected. Man, he's having fun with this project. However, he's also not above admitting it's vaguely turning him on. Sam's words about him being a shameless flirt snake into his head without his permission. Dammit. Maybe he should tone it down. He's distracted when Castiel is back at his side, putting down several shallow bowls of paint in varying green shades on the floor.

"Is it always gonna be green?" Dean asks, trying to clear his thoughts.

"I'm not sure," Castiel answers. "For now, yes." His eyes flick up from where he's kneeling near Dean's waist. "Maybe if I get a better feel for your personality, other colors will strike me."

Dean's grin wavers a bit. He's having a _really_ hard time with his newfound desire to be more respectful towards people he'd like to make friends with. Normally he'd quip that you can't turn off the Winchester charm, but he could if he tried. Probably.

Though it doesn't seem as though Castiel is completely unaffected. He keeps stealing glances at Dean's body almost guiltily. 

Castiel stands up. Moves all around the couch, studying the angles. "Hmm. The angles are a bit awkward. I'd like to approach this from a more... forward position? I like the pose, but..."

Dean glances up over the back out the couch at him. "Where would you be?"

"Preferably over your knees so that I can see you head-on."

Points for fearless answering of embarrassing questions. "I won't kiss and tell." _Dammit. Stop flirting, jackass_.

Castiel smiles brightly. Dean's heart skips a beat. "Are you sure?"

Unsure whether Castiel has plain missed the flirting, or is ignoring it, Dean nods. "Go for it."

Carefully, Castiel removes his shoes and ungracefully clambers over Dean's knees, notably avoiding any tender bits. He slips a little with a startled, "oof!", hands flying out to grab the arm of the sofa on either side of Dean's head.

For a moment, Dean swears they're stuck in time like a romance movie. He's caught in wide blue eyes, unable to move or blink. Heat rushes through him in waves to the tempo of his heart. _Holy shit_. He's felt attracted to people before. A lot of them. He's experienced great sex, insanely good kissing, mind-melting touches, the works. But this? Frozen? Terrified? Hoping? This is totally new. Totally Cas-centric. It's the most beautiful thing he's ever experienced.

Castiel looks like a deer in headlights for a second. His voice cracks a little when he says, "Dean, I don't... um... is this all right?"

"Yeah," Dean says, trying to hide how breathless he is thanks to his heart beating so quickly. "Fine. Yeah. Fine. Just... do what you need to." Never one for prayer, it's fitting his first one is, _please don't lose this moment, please don't break this feeling._

A miracle happens because the man above him seems loathe to shatter the mood, too. Castiel bends forward to dip the tips of his fingers into the green paint. He lifts them and holds them over Dean's chest, frozen. Two droplets fall and patter to Dean's skin, right on his abs. Castiel draws in a breath and licks his lips. His whisper is almost silent. "Tell me this is okay. I want to... I want to paint on you."

Dean tilts his chin up, but otherwise doesn't move a muscle. "Do it," he murmurs quietly.

Immediately, Castiel's hand spreads wide. He places the tips of his fingers gently against the center of Dean's chest and drags down. A fine tremor runs under Dean's skin, vibrating in his core.

Castiel sighs, heartened by the contact, drawing resolutely against Dean's torso. Dean can't watch. He closes his eyes and gives himself up to the sensations. _Fuck_ , he's getting hard. He bites the inside of his cheek, hoping against hope it's not too obvious. He can't let it end because he's not sure he can come back from it. He tries his best to at least dampen it, but it's no use. Instead of being itchy as it dries, the paint feels tingly. Castiel's hands are more profound than they should be, and Dean's _thisclose_ to losing his damn mind when they swipe up his neck to the underside of his jaw. 

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/106519177@N08/26816477389/in/dateposted-friend/)

Then there's the absence of hands and Dean is relieved/disappointed. Three small clicks. Dean cracks his eyes open. Castiel is just lowering his cell phone, case streaked with paint where he'd obviously been too hasty clean his hands off before grabbing it. Dean's not sure what face he's making but it makes Castiel swallow audibly.

"Sorry," Castiel murmurs, wide-eyed. "It's just... you looked... couldn't reach my camera, and I just had to get the shot."

"I don't mind," Dean whispers. He draws in a breath deep enough to shift Castiel on top of him. Quite fluidly, Castiel is drawn closer to Dean's face. Their mouths are...

Dean's eyes soften, pupils dilated.

Castiel stares.

Dean licks his lips.

Castiel's eyes flick down. He wants to kiss Dean. Dean can see it without even trying. _Yikes_. Castiel scrambles up, accidentally smacking Dean on his perfect mouth. That kills his libido pretty damn quick.

Dean gasps, "the fuck!" and shoves up to his elbows, nearly knocking his head on Castiel's chin. Bitterness fills his mouth and when he wipes his lips, his fingers come away green. "This shit better be non-toxic."

Castiel nearly vaults off of the couch but still has the mind to say, "of course it is. I paint on your skin with it."

"It was a joke," Dean grins, then grimaces, then spits out a mouthful of the paint onto the concrete. Castiel rushes to grab him a clean hand towel from a stack next to the craft table.

"I'm so sorry," he says, offering it out. 

"No harm done," Dean assures him. "Really. Should I get cleaned up? We could start again, if you want."

"I appreciate it," Castiel answers. "I have some new ideas."

Dean nods awkwardly, not at all liking how Castiel is avoiding his eyes. They need to fix this. Normally he'd say "fuck away the tension," but that ain't gonna work here. That's not how he wants it to work. So he says, "be back in a few."

He runs up the basement stairs to the guest bathroom, taking a moment to study himself in the mirror this time. He can't see what's on his back very well, but his chest... he can't deny how erotic it looks. Green lines that get thicker the lower they go. They're reminiscent of welts. Left in the throes of passion. A reminder that lasts hours or days later.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/106519177@N08/26816471849/in/dateposted-friend/)

Dean's dick twitches again at the thought. He glares at it briefly before turning the shower on cold and hopping under the spray. It does a lot to curb his physical enthusiasm, but next to nothing for the mental. He's fucked, and he knows it. He's not going to be able to stop thinking about Castiel. It's one of those things that's worse than even an earworm from an annoying song. He hates losing sleep over shit like this, but should probably accept the novelty because the only time he'd done it before was when he'd been hard up for a long time and finally seen the light at the end of a dry spell tunnel. This isn't that. It's never been that, and only gets _less_ like that every time he tries to _make_ it like that.

He's screwed. Though it's not as unpleasant as he thought it would be. He uses Castiel's soap to lather up a washcloth. He follows the lines of the paint, of Castiel's hands, down his chest. He actually likes seeing it swirl down the drain this time because it's a promise of more things to come. More drawings. He'd been ambivalent about this project at first, despite knowing how beautiful body art is. It was more the theme. He has no idea what souls are. Never thought much about them. Not sure he wants to. But Castiel believes in all of it, and he makes it beautiful. Makes Dean feel so much more than he is. That's worth it, and something he wants to explore. He doesn't care if that turns him into a believer or not. It probably sounds too simple, even in his own head, but all he cares about is if Castiel sees Dean as brilliantly as Dean sees Castiel. They could do anything with that.

He's not sure how he manages to keep it together during the rest of the session, except that he repeats to himself over and over not to do anything stupid. It also helps that Castiel seems to have benefited from their brief reprieve as well. His eyes are cool and clinical again when he assesses Dean's body. "Would you be opposed to standing while I paint on you this time?"

"No problem," Dean answers a bit too readily. He stands tall in front of the couch, but Castiel asks him to turn around.

He doesn't even touch Dean directly, opting for a few of the soft paint brushes to do his art. It takes everything within Dean not to be disappointed. At the same time, it helps a lot not having to stay strong while Castiel's hands were on him again. He can't feel too badly about the safety precaution. It's pretty relaxing, anyway. Castiel obviously has a clear image of what he wants to do because his brush strokes are rhythmic, only pausing to gather more paint. In fact, the only real struggle is when he goes lower than he has before, sweeping paint up the backs of Dean's legs.

When he's finished and satisfied, he says, "let's have you lie down on your stomach lengthwise."

Wordlessly, Dean obeys. He drops onto the sofa carefully so as not to smear any of the paint. He just barely fits completely without any body parts dangling off. He turns his face out, catching Castiel's eye. They both smile reflexively at the same time.

"Could you hang your arm over the side?" Castiel asks.

Dean drops his left arm down, propping his head up with his right arm.

"That looks good," Castiel says approvingly. "I'm going to add some to your arm and hand."

This time Dean watches while Castiel paints on him, his sure brush strokes quickly taking shape in the form of feathers. Green with blue highlights. They trail down from his shoulders, wrapping around his arm until the last one is drawn right in his cupped hand where it rests against the ground. "Is that what's on my back?"

"More or less," Castiel answers, eyes assessing every inch of his completed work. "I'm trying to solidify some things." He stands and removes the camera from the tripod. "You okay to be photographed now?"

"Yeah," Dean answers, oddly thrilled at the prospect. While Castiel starts his test shots, he asks, "have you settled on your concept yet?"

"I think so. Would you like to hear about it?"

"Of course. I'm curious, and you only had sort of a vague idea at first."

Castiel smiles over the viewfinder for a moment. "You've been very inspiring thus far. As you know, I've been centering this project around the idea of souls. How they look. The way they feel. The emotions they inspire in us. But I've also expanded on that a bit. Or, at least I want to. I've decided to add in the idea of angelic grace. Before, I was using the term 'grace' and 'soul' kind of interchangeably, but now working with you, I've come to realize that perhaps they're different after all."

"Huh," Dean grunts thoughtfully. "I'm assuming that's the reason for the wings?"

"Exactly," Castiel says, snapping a few close up shots from the back of the couch where Dean can't see him. "It's hard to explain in words, but... what if our souls are somehow tied to grace? Almost like a guardian angel or something?"

Dean huffs a small laugh. "My mom always said angels were watching over us."

There are several shutter clicks before Castiel says, "did you ever believe her?"

"Yeah, and it scared me as a kid, actually."

It's Castiel's turn to laugh. "Why would it scare you to have a supremely powerful being protecting you?"

"Dunno, I figured it was like Santa Claus," Dean says defensively. "Like, don't do anything bad or you might get hit with a bolt of lightning. It was unnerving thinking that I might never be alone."

"That's really pessimistic," Castiel chides. "I always found it comforting. I mean, generally good people probably wouldn't risk a smiting just because they lied or something. After all, people get away with much worse crimes every single day. I preferred to think about it like someone just... being there. Supporting me quietly every day. Inspiring me. Comforting me when I prayed. I've always... _felt_ something when I pray. It's nice to think that it's an angel with their grace tangled up with my soul, like it gave me life."

"Huh," Dean says again. "Gotta be honest, I've never thought too deeply about it. My parents aren't religious, so I don't know anything about any of that."

"I know I've said it before, but if you don't like talking about it, I'll refrain," Castiel says, moving towards Dean's feet to take more pictures. "I do understand people who dislike speaking of religion in any way."

"I'm cool with it," Dean assures him. "You're not one of those people who uses religion as a weapon. I can respect that. And you certainly don't act like I'm some lesser person for not being religious."

"I can't do that," Castiel admits quietly, scooting around to the front of the couch. He doesn't look up from the viewfinder, but his tone suggests a wealth of old emotions. "I've suffered enough at the hands of organized religion to want to judge anybody who is doing no harm. Now I only have my faith. That's enough."

"What happened?" Dean asks before his brain reminds him that that's way too personal of a question to be asking.

However, Castiel simply answers, "sexuality."

"Ah," Dean breathes, flushing. He'd figured.

Castiel lowers the camera. "I'm sick and tired of the bad parts, and the hate on all sides, and the fighting, and the judgmental crap where everyone seems to think they know better than everyone else. It's exhausting. The whole world is exhausting. For once I just want to focus on the beauty. Humanity and spirituality can be beautiful, but nobody lets it anymore. I..." he trails off, slumping to a sitting position and putting the camera down gently beside himself.

Dean sits up properly, sensing that Castiel is done with his pictures. He picks up the camera, but doesn't look at the pictures on it. Instead, he snaps one of Castiel. He grins when he's leveled with an accusatory glare. He hands the camera back. "It's okay to be tired. It's brave to want to create something out of that exhaustion."

A small smile touches the corners of Castiel's lips, warming his eyes. "Thank you for being a part of it, Dean."

Dean nods. "Wouldn't wanna be anywhere else."

***

"You're being too quiet," Sam says over dinner a few nights later. "It's unnerving."

"Considering how much you tell me to shut up, that's hilarious coming from you," Dean mutters around a mouthful of chili.

Sam rolls his eyes. "I don't mean it that way. I mean, you seem kinda mopey."

"I've never been mopey," Dean protests.

"I also..." Sam pauses so significantly that it makes Dean glance up. He freezes at the look of abject _guilt_ on his brother's face. And all he needs to do to prompt it along is raise an eyebrow. Sam folds like a worn in beach chair. "Okay, so, remember when you asked me to do your laundry yesterday?"

"Uh... yeah?" Dean ventures carefully. The hell does that have to do with anything? He doesn't have anything incriminating in his dirty clothes for now; that's why he'd asked Sam to take care of them as he'd rushed off to work.

"I wasn't snooping, I swear, but I found your stash."

Dean snorts, returning to his chili. "Dude, you've known where my porn is since you were like, thirteen. No matter where we live, it's right under the bed for easy access."

"I'm not talking about that," Sam says, looking more guilty by the second. "I'm talking about..." his voice drops to a whisper. "… _your bible_." He's never even said "porn collection" in such a scandalized tone.

Dean nearly chokes on his dinner. "Dude. So?"

Sam gives him a hard look like he's steeling himself for something. "Dean, are you dying? Is something really wrong with you that I need to know about? Why do you have a bible and all of those books on angels?"

More incredulous by the minute, Dean drops his spoon into the bowl lest he actually keep eating and kill himself from choking to death at Sam's questioning. "How did you get from me having a bible in my room, to me dying?"

Sam's expression darkens more to concern. "Lots of people look for God when they're told really bad news. Or have done something they need forgiveness for. Why else would you be doing it?"

The way that he stresses the word "you" is pretty insulting. "I'm not fucking dying, Sam."

Sam's shoulders slump. "Good," he mumbles. "That's great. I was so worried."

Honestly, he's trying to find the humor in it, but it's just not there. "What, d'you think I'm beyond redemption or something? That I can't believe in something greater than myself? Live a selfless life? Do unto others, and all that shit?"

Sam holds his hands up. "No. I mean, no I don't think you're incapable. But if you're not dying, what motivation do you have for suddenly being interested in religion?"

It'd be nice to end the conversation before Sam can stick his big-ass foot in his mouth any further, but Dean knows his brother better than anyone. Meaning, he knows the conversation won't just end because he's being reticent. "It's 'cause of Cas," he finally admits.

Sam's eyebrows go up. "Castiel? What, did he like, evangelize to you or something?"

"Jesus tapdancing Christ!" Dean bursts out. "Okay, first of all, _enough_ , okay? You're being a dick."

Sam draws in a surprised breath. "I'm sorry," he says. When Dean continues to glare, he adds, "Dean, I'm really sorry, all right? First I thought you were dying, then you said you were doing something wildly out of character for fun, and then you said it has to do with Cas. I'm not, like _judging_ you, okay? If you wanted to be religious or whatever, I'm totally supportive. Not that you need my permission. Wait. Cas. Dean, do you have a crush on him or something?"

The about face leaves Dean speechless long enough that Sam pounces on it harder.

"You _do_!" He smiles like the cat that got the cream. "How did someone like Castiel Novak manage to take down the Great Heart Breaker Dean Winchester?"

Dean groans. "You're reading too much into this," he says weakly. He's got no defense here, and considering he's never been in this position either, he's faltering thinking on his feet. Not that he's ashamed of his crush. Or his reputation. He's just out to sea.

"I don't think I am," Sam drawls. "I think you're developing actual grownup feelings for Castiel. Otherwise you're the last person in the world who would bother researching someone else's hobbies."

"It's for the project," Dean attempts, whole body feeling flushed with embarrassment. "Cas has this whole concept of grace and souls and it's really cool, but I didn't get it, so I decided to research it. The more I understand it, the more I can help him with his vision, right?"

"Right," Sam agrees significantly. "Because you're falling in love with him."

"Who cares?" Dean fires back, petulantly.

"I do," Sam answers. "I care about what - and who - makes you happy."

He absolutely has no answer for that. "Thanks, I guess," he says for lack of anything better.

"You're welcome," Sam answers, blessedly dropping the subject after that.


	4. Chapter 04

Dean finishes posing for the figure drawing class at the end of the following week. He's a little sad to see it go, but it offers him some extra time with Cain at the tattoo parlor. In the downtime, he continues to work on his own design, idly adding some feathers around it to see what it looks like.

"If you keep fiddling with it, you'll never actually finish it," Cain notes, dropping onto the sofa next to him and opening a soda. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were stalling."

"I'm not," Dean answers. It's an argument they've been having for a long time now. "I'm a perfectionist just like you. Plus, I can't start it until next semester at the earliest. And I know for a fact you're booked until next year."

"I'd make an exception," Cain shrugs.

Dean gives him a disbelieving look. "Since when?"

"Since it's you and I like the design. Those feathers are pulling it together."

Dean grunts noncommittal, and turns back to his work. It buys him a little time to get his thoughts in order for what he knows is coming next.

"How's that guy you like?" Cain asks after a minute.

Right on time. "He's fine," Dean answers casually.

"You're such a shit. How are things _going_ with that guy you like?"

"Nothing to report." Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Cain about to get fired up with a speech, but the bell over the door jingles and two girls walk in. Perfect. Now they'll both have work to do without the luxury of invasive questions. And after that, business picks up enough that Dean's easily able to avoid Cain and his questions until the end of his shift. At least the man has poor timing with interesting questions.

***

When Dean rings the doorbell at Castiel's house, it's Gabriel who answers the door. It sets him back on his heel, but Gabriel doesn't care at all.

"Hello, Inspiration," Gabriel grins.

"Whatever," Dean quips. "Where's Cas?"

"I'm back here," Castiel calls from inside the house. He sounds angry.

Dean wants to push inside, but figures it's pretty rude to brush off the other person who lives in the house. "Can I come in?"

Gabriel stands aside, not at all being subtle with the once over he gives Dean. "Nice 'canvas' you got here, Cassie," he says lasciviously. 

There's a wordless noise of rage from somewhere deeper inside the house, but Castiel still doesn't appear.

"What the hell is going on?" Dean asks, glancing around for Castiel. He sniffs the air. It smells like... cake? Cookies? Something baking?

Gabriel claps a hand on Dean's shoulder, steering him towards the kitchen. "Cas is rage baking. Prepare yourself. It ain't pretty."

Forgetting about being polite, Dean says, "what did you do?"

"Nothing," Gabriel insists, obviously used to the accusation. "He gets this way sometimes. Just... talk to him, all right?" He shoves Dean through the kitchen door and then retreats presumably to higher ground.

Holy _shit_. Dean stares around the large room with wide eyes. Gabriel wasn't kidding about the rage baking. Cookies, muffins, unfrosted cupcakes, pancakes, waffles, a couple of cakes, all cover the table, counters, everywhere except for the kitchen island where the stand mixer and ingredients are scattered. "Cas?" he ventures hesitantly.

Castiel whips around looking absolutely haunted. He's a mess. Covered in flour, butter, probably an egg or two. His hair is standing up in every direction, and he looks like he hasn't slept in days. "Hello, Dean," he answers in pure consternation. "Oh, I should have texted you. Told you not to come over." His face falls into something resembling shame.

"No worries," Dean assures him cautiously. "Didn't have anything planned today. You all right? Having a bake sale or something?"

"No," Castiel growls, glancing around like he's seeing the chaos for the first time. "I'm having art block."

"And you deal with that by putting Little Debbie to shame?" He stuffs his hands in his pockets so as to not be tempted to sample the goods in case it upsets Castiel further. "Hey, at least it's productive."

Castiel drags out a kitchen chair and slumps into it like the air itself weighs heavy on him. "I hate wasting time. But now I'm wasting _your_ time. I know we have a set schedule, and that there's still plenty of time before the final projects are due, but..." he adds streaks of flour to his hair when he scrubs his hands through roughly. His blue eyes flick around the room then meet Dean's plaintively. "You're already so busy with your job and school, and you've carved out time specifically to do this for me, so I was hoping my creative streak would last long enough to make it worth your while. Especially since I'm not paying you. We should revisit our agreement. I should pay you, after all."

Now he gets it. Dean steps in front of Castiel and crouches down so that Castiel can focus on him without distraction. "I told you I didn't want your money," he reminds him. "And you're not wasting my time. I _like_ this project. I like hanging out with you, too. If you worrying that your productivity levels, and that's what's causing this art block, then stop worrying. Seriously. I don't mind."

"I'm so tired," Castiel groans, dropping his head into his hands.

"Did you sleep last night?" Dean grins.

"No," he answers piteously.

Dean laughs. "Okay there, buddy. You got anything in the oven right now?"

"No," Castiel repeats, less piteously.

"Good, then come on." He stands and holds his hands out, wiggling his fingers. "Come on, Cas," he wheedles when Castiel doesn't make a single move. "Get up! It's fine staying here and baking until you die of exhaustion, but you need to get out of here. Clear your head. Reset, y'know?"

Slowly, Castiel reaches up, sliding his hands into Dean's. They both appear slightly surprised at the sensation of their hands meeting. Which is fucking _great_ for Dean. He's been chasing the feeling since he met Castiel. Since forever. Fuck, he's so glad that he found it. The least he can do to pay it forward is to get Castiel out of his funk. He's not sure what will work, but they can start with what works for him and see where it goes.

"Where are we going?" Castiel asks, barely helping Dean leverage him up to his feet. 

"Somewhere good."

Castiel sways a little and then straightens with a sigh. "Okay, fine, just let me shower-"

"Nah," Dean cuts in, dragging him towards the door.

Castiel digs his heels in. "I'm covered in baked goods! At least let me change-"

"Nope," Dean says.

"But I smell like-"

"No!" Dean insists. "You smell like food, which is the best smell, anyway, so just get your ass in gear!" It's like trying to encourage a stubborn donkey. "Come on, it'll be good for you. Let's go."

Reluctantly, Castiel gives in, dragging his feet out of the kitchen, then out of the house and into Dean's car. He leans back and closes his eyes against the glare of the late afternoon sun, turning his face towards it to bask in the unseasonably warm day.

They don't speak on the drive. Castiel doesn't ask where they're going, and Dean doesn't turn on the radio, just cranks down his window to let the wind fill the silence. 

This exercise in trust isn't lost on Dean. He's driving them down the backroads into the middle of nowhere for a half hour and Castiel just watches the city turn into suburbs turn into fields turn into forests. Dean is pulling off onto a gravel drive when Castiel finally says, "are you taking me to some serial killer cabin?"

"There's no cabin," Dean laughs.

"But there are serial killers?" Castiel jokes.

It's a camp ground, to be more specific. Abandoned this time of year because summer is over and it's the dead time between the school year starting and the leaves changing. It's old school, too. No electricity, no wifi, and the only running water is at the small "lodge" that's really just a built-on double wide trailer. Dean parks the Impala next to the only other car in the gravel lot; a beat up orange Pinto.

Castiel unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out of the car before Dean has even taken the keys out of the ignition. He watches out the windshield as his friend fearlessly approaches a graying man sitting in a rocking chair on the ramshackle porch attached precariously to the trailer/office. Through the open car window, he hears Castiel say, "good afternoon, I'm Castiel Novak, fine art's student at ASU. I apologize for my appearance. I'm usually more put together, but Dean Winchester, the person who brought me here, made me leave before I could shower or change."

The man doesn't stand, but he sticks his hand out to shake. "Bobby Singer. Manager of this shithole. Don't matter how you look. Most people are nastier looking than you after a couple days at the campsites with only the lake to bathe in."

Dean rolls up the window and steps out, shielding his eyes from the sun. "Hey, Bobby."

Bobby squints at him. "The hell are you doing here, boy?"

Dean shrugs. "Fishing."

"Where's your gear?"

"Where's the love?" he shoots back. "Why the third degree?"

"'Cause I don't want you having sex on my damn canoes anymore."

Castiel laughs like it startles him. Both other men look at him and he shrugs. "I apologize. It's just... disgusting. Also intriguing. How'd you do it without tipping the boat?"

Dean grins. "I never said we didn't."

Bobby shakes his head. "Great, Dean don't make no friends until he meets someone as weird as him." He nods over his shoulder. "I'm leaving after dark, so you're on your own after. Get outta here." Dean grabs Castiel's hand and starts to pull him towards the trail. Bobby's voice yelling, "no sex in the boats!" follows them away.

They pass dozens of gravel lots with enough room for a couple tents and a fire pit apiece. They've also got wooden picnic tables and small charcoal grills.

"Where are you taking me? Who was that man?" Castiel asks as they continue on towards a break in the trees.

"I'm taking you to my thinking spot, and that was Bobby. He's kinda like a dad to me. Took care of me and Sammy after my dad died."

"You lived here?" Castiel asks, peering around with deeper interest than before. At least it didn't sound all judgemental like the chick who'd helped him tip the canoe. Add that to the fact that the weight of the world appears to be lifting off of his shoulders step by step as they approach the clearing.

"Off and on," Dean answers. "we stayed at his house closer to the city during most of the year for school, but all our time off was spent up here. It's like a second home. Really peaceful. Well, until all the vacationers show up. In the off season, Bobby only comes up here on the weekends to make sure everything's good here. His normal job is a scrapyard around his house. If you're interested in _real_ serial killer settings, that's a better bet."

Castiel laughs at that and it cuts off into an audible gasp as they break through the trees into the clearing. "Wow," he breathes. "It's like a painting. Like a _good_ painting."

Chuckling, Dean says, "see what I mean?"

The lake is huge, still. Crystaline water gently lapping against a dirt shore, penned in by pine trees and mountains to the west. There's a long dock not far from their position, and Castiel makes for it immediately, Dean on his heels, but falling back when the guy starts to power walk, then jog, then outright run with a resounding _whoop_ up the dock and down the pier until he stops right at the edge. "This is beautiful, wild country!" he yells into the void.

Dean takes his time catching up while Castiel hangs himself over the edge of the pier with an arm wrapped around one of the poles and shouts his adulations to the water and the sky. Once he's finished, he swings around beaming at Dean. "It's like a Bob Ross painting!"

Dean laughs loudly. "I know, right? Good to see you can appreciate the finer things in life."

"Of course I do! Come here, Dean!" Castiel shouts, waving his arms excitedly. "You have to come here and thank God for this beautiful country with me!"

Infected by his enthusiasm, Dean trots the rest of the way down the dock. Castiel grabs him around the waist and swings him in an uncoordinated waltz, laughing and yelling about birds, trees, and Bob Ross. Dean didn't even know that Castiel was capable of such... volume. It's awesome and he's laughing right along, but not quite as screamy. They're smiling at each other from very close. "Guess you're feeling better, huh?"

Castiel throws his head back. Shouts, "yes, Dean, _thank you_! This couldn't be any better!"

"Sure it could," Dean says lightly. He waltzes them to the edge, tips sideways, and they're tumbling off the dock into the water.

They surface sputtering, even Castiel cursing up a storm. "It's fucking _freezing_! Why would you do that?!"

Dean's whole laugh warbles with his teeth chattering. "It's usually not this cold this early in the season!" He breast strokes up to Castiel, treading water in front of him. "Your lips are turning blue."

"So are yours," Castiel says, but he's still smiling. "I hope you brought towels."

"Yeah."

Castiel's grin turns wolfish. "Good, then I can do _this_!" He heaves up, plants both palms on top of Dean's head, and uses his body weight to push him under the water. Dean goes down flailing, finally able to break away once he's fully submerged. He takes Castiel's legs out from under him, wading back up when he feels Castiel's hands on his back trying to stay above water. It doesn't work. Dean swims forward, taking Castiel's feet with him until they're both under.

They break the surface again, and Castiel spits a fountain of water at Dean, which he dodges.

Grappling seems the next best option, and by the time they're breathless and running out of petty, childish insults to shout at each other - Dean favoring, "yeah, your face!" while Castiel goes for the classic, "that's what your mom said last night!" - they're grown accustomed to the water temperature. Or gone completely hypothermic. Either way they're not shivering anymore.

"So tired," Castiel groans, flipping onto his back to float for a while.

Dean joins him, breathing heavy and trying to keep his mouth above water. "So worth it. I haven't done that shit since me and Sammy were kids."

"We can do it anytime you like once it's warmer," Castiel promises, reaching out and taking Dean's hand. He threads their cold fingers together.

"Deal."

"I'm glad we're friends," Castiel says apropos of nothing. "I'm presuming. Are we friends?"

"Hell yeah we're friends," Dean says more severely than he was going for. But somehow it's extremely important that Castiel believes him. "You're amazing, Cas. Seriously."

"You don't have to go over the top to praise me," Castiel says, amused. "I don't have low self-esteem or anything."

Dean chuckles. "That's not why."

There's a pause. "Then why?"

Now or never, Dean figures. "'Cause I got a crush on ya."

"Oh." It sounds more surprised than anything else.

"Did I make you uncomfortable?"

"No," Castiel answers thoughtfully. "I feel the same about you, but I never really considered it. Honestly, I haven't been sexually attracted to anyone before."

"Oh," Dean echoes. "Right, yeah, you kinda said before... you're asexual right?"

"Yes," Castiel confirms. "Most likely demisexual, though I've never gotten close enough to anyone I've found aesthetically pleasing to see if it's true. Even if I'm not, I wouldn't mind having sex with someone I loved."

"Dude, we're having some feelings discussion here, and you're talking like a textbook."

Far from being insulted, Castiel huffs a laugh. "It's the only way I know how. You can ask whatever you want, and I'll answer honestly, though. That's important."

Dean sits up in the water since they've floated close enough to the shore that they can stand without sinking. "Whatever I want, huh?" He keeps hold of Castiel's hand, pulling him up.

"Yes," Castiel answers, trudging up the bank pressed closely to Dean's side. "It's the least I can do."

Dean eyes him as he shakes water out of his ear. "Why do you say that?"

Castiel shrugs. "Because I'm hoping to give you enough information to determine whether or not we should date. I want to date you."

"You look so serious about it," Dean frowns. But he can't deny his heart pounding at the prospect. Boy, does he _ever_ want to date Cas. Like, yesterday. 

"I'm worried. This is my worried face."

Dean skips around in front of Castiel, stalling his forward momentum. And he waits out the nervousness when those gorgeous baby blues won't meet his for a solid minute. They do, finally. "Cas. You don't have to tell me everything all at once. You've told me the most important parts."

Castiel tilts his head in the familiar way. "I have?"

"Sure. You're asexual, okay having sex, like me back, enjoy lots of the same things I do. Plus, you've already seen me naked, so that embarrassment is out of the way."

"You haven't seen _me_ naked," Castiel points out.

"Plenty of time for that," Dean leers.

Castiel flushes. "That's... true. Would you like to date me, Dean?"

Dean steps closer. "Yes, I would." Castiel's smile makes his heart thud even faster.

"I'm okay with kissing if you want to," Castiel murmurs.

Dean moves instinctively and kisses him. It's not stars aligning, or all the birds in the skies taking flight, or a choir of angels singing. It's just him and Castiel with their lips pressed together as they shiver in the cold air, and it's _so good_. Castiel isn't the most skilled kisser, so the second their lips touch, he lets Dean teach him. There's no frantic making out like Dean's used to, so for several moments, he's about as lost as Castiel is. He's not at all sure how to make it go from "good" to "unbelivable." That's all he wants to do. But Castiel makes a small noise in his throat and clenches his hands in Dean's soaked jacket, gently drawing him closer.

A single step forward and a small tilt of his head is all that Dean needs. His cold hands are on Castiel's cheeks, carefully holding him in place as he slowly deepens the kiss, their tongues meeting hesitantly at first, but then Castiel makes that noise again and nothing else registers except where they're touching. It must go on for ages.

Until the wind from the lake picks up and they're both breaking away with a gasp. Dean blinks, trembling again, surprised to see that the sun's setting for real. "I always keep spare clothes in the car," he says. "We should go get those."

Castiel nods, bracing himself against the breeze, and leading the way back to the parking lot as quickly as they dare to walk in the waning light.

As promised, Bobby is gone by the time they arrive at the car, the office dark, and the street lamps along the path and in the lot just starting to flicker on. Dean opens the trunk of the Impala and grabs his duffel bag, empties it onto the hood. There are two towels and three changes of clothes. "Were you planning this?" Castiel asks suspiciously.

"Nope," Dean assures him. "I always keep a bag for when I feel like getting out of town for a few days. Hit the road. Y'know. Whatever." He shrugs, tugging off his wet coat and shirt.

"Wanderlust?" Castiel scrubs his dark hair into even further disorder. 

"Nah, not anymore. Not really." Dean dries off quickly and yanks on the dry set of sweats. He does the gentlemanly thing and turns his back for them to change their pants and boxers. He clears his throat. "I'm settled now. I like it here. Guess you don't know, but I never finished high school."

"Really?" Castiel asks sounding intrigued.

Dean ties off the waist of his sweatpants and turns back, feeling a decent thrill at Castiel wearing his clothes. He'd thought that was something he only felt for girls putting on his too-baggy hoodies and stuff, like they're being swallowed in his stuff, but it's a nice mark on Castiel, too. He approves. Greatly. "Yeah," he answers, testing the waters of Castiel's judgement, though he's pretty sure he won't think any less. "I dropped out in the middle of junior year and went on a bit of a... journey. Took this car and went all over the country. Saw the sights. Then I came back. Got my GED. Went to college. Put down roots. As much as I could, anyway."

"I'm jealous," Castiel says, folding up his soggy clothes and putting them into the duffel with Dean's. "Maybe I should have done that. Or started college later. So many people do it. Backpack through Europe, hostels in Asia. Visit the biggest ball of yarn in America."

Dean laughs.

"I never did. I was eager to start college and be a 'grownup.' Don't know what the rush was now. I had the means. I should have taken the chance."

"There's not a time limit," Dean says. He tosses the bag back in the trunk and unlocks the car. As soon as they're tucked in, he starts it and turns on the heater full blast. "There's nothing that says you can't do it over a summer or after you graduate, right?"

"Right," Castiel says vaguely, staring out the windshield. "Some days the sky seems really high up, doesn't it?"

"Yeah." Dean holds his hand out over the bench seat, palm up. Castiel takes it without hesitation. "You worried about something?"

Castiel glances at him. "Nothing more than normal."

"Graduation starting to sink in?"

"Exactly." Castiel smiles over at him. "I don't know if I'm ready. I don't think I prepared enough. I had a few summer jobs, but I'm spoiled and didn't have to work to make ends meet. So I never had to sit down and think too hard about what comes after. I focused on my coursework, and that was it. Now I'm staring down the barrel of a gun with only the vaguest of plans."

Dean nods several times. "I can't say I understand that, 'cause I don't. I've always had to work, but even so, it's not like I totally thought about what I'd do afterwards. One day after another until that cap and gown was on, then I went, 'shit. What now?' But you'll figure it out. You'll find something. Might take a while, but you'll get there. You're smart and talented. The only other thing you need is a little bit of luck."

Castiel huffs. "The jury's still out on whether I have that or not."

"You do," Dean says. "If not, just make sure you have a plan B." He winks and throws the car into reverse, backing out of the lot and pointing them home.

"Don't sound like my mom. That's very unsexy," Castiel frowns.

"Gross," Dean chortles. "Totally not what I was going for. Forget I said it."

"It's a good sentiment, though," Castiel relents. 

Just like the drive out, the drive in is peaceful and mostly quiet. They're about ten miles out when Dean says, "thanks for trusting me and coming out today."

Castiel barely shifts from where he's been leaning against the window. "Thanks for taking me. Bobby appeared surprised. Do you often sneak up on him like that?"

"It was you," Dean explains. "He's not used to me bringing anyone with."

"Except the girl in the canoe," Castiel smiles. 

Dean's grin is wide and lopsided. "She was already there. Camping with her family."

Castiel makes a teasingly disgusted noise. "Homewrecker."

"She wasn't married!"

"Vacation wrecker."

"Excuse you, there's nothing about good sex that ruins a vacation. That's why people go in the first place."

"That's not true. My father always said he would never have bothered to take vacations except that it meant he could get eight hours of uninterrupted sleep."

"Yeah, _after_ the sex."

Castiel grimaces. "Let's not talk about this anymore."

Dean laughs. "I'm not wrong."

"If _you_ want to think about my parents having sex, that's fine, but leave me out of your musings, thanks."

Dean doesn't answer except to wink at Castiel and grin for the rest of the drive home. When they get there, Castiel doesn't immediately leave the car once Dean's parked it in the driveway. He's still, contemplating the front of the house for a long time. Dean watches him, but Castiel doesn't even seem to notice that he's being watched. "Cas?"

"Us dating," he says suddenly, almost over top of Dean. "Is it going to change the parameters of the project?"

Dean turns halfway in his seat. He can see the worry lines between Castiel's eyebrows. "It doesn't have to," he answers, hoping it's the truth.

Castiel's searching gaze swings to him. "Doesn't it? Are you going to be thinking about having sex with me every time we work together? Am I going to be thinking the same? Is it going to change the dynamic of the photographs? Will I like it? Will I hate it?"

"Whoa, whoa," Dean pleads, reaching out to take Castiel's hand, gently prying apart his fingers and massaging his palms. "You're about to have a panic attack. You okay?"

Castiel's teeth clack shut and he sucks in a deep breath, eyes wide. "I'm freaking out."

"Yeah, you are. Come on, let's get you inside and we'll talk, all right? Work it out."

Castiel looks like he's about to say no and have a deep fried freak out all by himself. But then his expression clears and he says, "that would be helpful, thank you." Despite saying it, Castiel still appears unsure. But Dean waits it out until Castiel nods and opens the car door. "Okay," he says decisively. 

Taking the hint, Dean gets out too and follows him inside. They go straight to the basement studio. While Castiel looks around at everything as if trying to see it all in a new light, Dean quietly walks to the couch; to the one spot that's been his since the beginning of the project. He doesn't immediately sit, instead looking at the sofa from every angle. Is it all different now? He's not sure. Not like this. He sits down just off center and watches Castiel. _Ah_. This part is different. He's been picturing some more salacious moments with Castiel since the beginning, of course, but those were just fantasies. 

His eyes are drawn to Castiel's lips, and not just because he's worrying the lower one between his teeth as he makes his slow circuit of the work space. He knows how those lips _feel_. The sounds that accompany the intimate touch. And now he wants to do it again. Squirms a little in his seat with the effort it takes not to get up and take Castiel in his arms. Kiss the breath out of him again. Taste the rest of his skin.

"It's different," he says out loud before he can stop himself.

Nodding, shoulders slumping, Castiel says, "yes, it is."

Dean scrubs his sweaty palms vigorously on the cushions, gaze dropping to his shoes. "Jesus, I'm sorry, Cas. I didn't mean to fuck it all up."

_Click_.

Dean's head comes up sharply. Castiel is standing next to the camera holding the remote trigger. He's starting to smile. "It's okay that you did."

"Dude, I might be messing up your final grade here just 'cause I wanted to kiss you!"

Castiel's right shoulder rolls up. "Actually, I think you're saving it. I have an idea that I believe will be far better than my original plan."

Eyes widening hopefully, Dean feels his frown start to relax. "Really?"

_Click_. 

"Yes. In fact, I'm really excited."

It's definitely a smile tugging at his mouth now. "Are you?"

_Click._

"May I please kiss you again?"

The grin breaks over his face instantly. 

_Click_. 

"Get on over here, Cas."

Castiel brings the wireless remote with him and plops down right next to Dean, staring at him and mirroring his grin.

_Click_.

Castiel kisses him exactly like the quick learner he is. He curls his arm behind Dean's neck, draping it over his shoulder, drawing him in. His lips move effortlessly against Dean's, coaxing them open, slowly sliding their tongues together. Add it to the list of things that Dean could do all damn day.

_Click_.

When they both begin to pull back, Castiel captures Dean's bottom lip between his, nipping at it.

Dean presses their foreheads together. His vision is swarmed with blue. "When did you get to be so sexy?" he murmurs.

Castiel pecks his lips. "Since I wanted to impress you."

Dean chuckles. "Cas," he whispers affectionately.

Tightening his grip on Dean's shoulder, Castiel says, "I don't want to scare you or anything, but this is a big deal to me. I don't get this way. _Ever_."

Sensing the need for a little space, Dean draws back more, but doesn't break their points of contact with their hands. "Whaddya mean?"

"I want to make out with you," Castiel says like he really doesn't want to.

"I get that?" Dean answers, confused.

"I think I'm starting to feel something," Castiel clarifies.

Unconsciously, Dean's eyes flick down, but clearly Castiel isn't talking about sexual arousal. "Um," he says. "I'm sorry, but I'm not understanding."

Castiel's fingers slip up Dean's hands to his forearms, pushing up the sleeves of his long sleeved t-shirt in the process. "I keep feeling the urge to kiss you and I like touching you this way. I can imagine myself wanting other things with you, too."

"Oh," Dean says lamely, swallowing hard.

"Right now, when I look at you, I don't have a sexual reaction to you, but..." he cringes.

Taking a risk, Dean touches Castiel's cheek, thumbing over his cheekbone. "You think you might one day?"

"I don't know," Castiel answers honestly, placing his hand on top of Dean's. "I don't have a sexual reaction to you, but I kind of _want_ to. One day. But, what if I don't?"

Anyone else he's ever dated, Dean would have answered that with, "then we should probably quit while we're ahead." This is Castiel, though. He's weird, and talented, and honest, and blunt, and funny, and Dean is starting to feel something, too. Better than just sexual attraction. So, he shrugs and says, "then you don't. I'm not gonna be bummed if your physical reactions to me don't go further."

Face scrunching, Castiel says, "but, you're... _you_. You like to have sex."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Are you trying to dump me like, an hour after saying you wanted to date?"

"No!" Castiel cries as if the thought hadn't even occurred to him. "I just... I'm a little..." his eyes drop to a small splotch of dried green paint on the floor. "I'm nervous."

Not forcing him to look up, Dean says, "look, I know what I'm getting into here. You were honest with me from the get-go. If it doesn't happen, that's okay. If it does happen, that's okay, too. If it only sometimes happens, same deal. I'm cool with it. I like you, Cas. That's what matters to me. Sure, I like sex, but it was a lot more important to me when I didn't like the people I was with more than I'm coming to like you."

It takes a minute for Castiel's gaze to meet Dean's again. His eyes flick from the floor, to the wall, to the camera, to their joined hands, and finally they're eye-to-eye. "Really?"

Dean's face eases into a smile. "Yeah." He means it.

Castiel kisses him again. "Thank you. It means a lot that you'd even try."

"This is worth it."

"I feel the same."

Dean doesn't stay much longer. Castiel is exhausted after the roller coaster of emotions he's been through the whole day. Plus, it's getting late by the time they're done talking and assuring each other that yes, they're on the same page, and yes, the project can go on as Castiel has revised. The only difference is that they spend several minutes kissing again at the door, making Dean far more reluctant to leave, and Castiel less inclined to let him go. And then before Dean's totally out the door, Castiel rushes to the kitchen and returns with three Tupperware containers full of cookies and brownies that Gabriel had taken the time to package up while Castiel was away. He shoves them into Dean's hands, ears burning red, and bids him goodnight.

So it goes with their routine. Only, for a change, there's a lot more kissing involved.


	5. Chapter 05

Over the next several weeks that begin to fade into months, Castiel and Dean find a way to work each other into their routines. Dean takes over the spacious kitchen in the Novak household to make Castiel lunch or dinner when he's too deep into his work to register anything, including his own hunger. 

Castiel visits the tattoo parlor, much to Cain's delight, during the slow times to bring coffee or just talk about the ins and outs of tattooing. Dean's a little concerned with his boyfriend's friendship with his boss when they both discover a shared love of bees; Cain promising to show Castiel his hives sometime. 

And even when Dean is over to work on the project, they don't always manage to do art. Sometimes they sit on the couch holding hands, talking about whatever subjects come to mind.

Then that special day in January rolls around, and Dean thinks about taking the day off from work, classes, and Castiel's project, but only manages two of the three by the time 4:00 rolls around and he's knocking on Castiel's door.

The second that Castiel opens the door, Dean grins and announces, "it's my birthday!"

Of all the responses he expected, the last on his mind is Castiel frowning and asking, "then why are you here?"

Wow. Bummer. Dean's expression falls. "'Cause I wanted to be?"

Registering his reaction, Castiel's eyes widen and he shakes his head. "No, I mean... um... I'm always glad to see you. It's just... well... you don't need to be here. You could have canceled to do... whatever, and... um... I wouldn't have minded. One day isn't going to mess up the schedule. It's fine... I..." His face burns red and he trails off, completely stuck. "Happy Birthday, Dean," he mumbles eventually. 

"There ya go," Dean laughs. "I played hooky from school and work, so that's enough." Castiel is still blocking the doorway, so Dean leans in and kisses the embarrassed frown off of his face, using the shock to push them both inside and shut the door.

"You should have told me," Castiel rumbles against his lips. "I should have got you a gift."

"Making out's better than anything else I could'a got," Dean assures him.

"Cheap date," Castiel answers, smile evident in his voice and the way that his lips curve against Dean's.

"Gotta be since we're all starving artists."

Good enough for Castiel, so he dives right back in to devour Dean. He's been learning really quickly, too. It's like all he cares about when making out is to find out what Dean likes and then do exclusively that. Over and over. Drives Dean kinda wild, all truth. He loves it, but he also really wants to figure out what's unique to Castiel's tastes. So far he's been more "go with the flow" than anything, but there _has_ to be something. Not that Dean's willing to push it past the lips and a stray kiss to the neck here and there. He's made it clear that he won't wait for Castiel to say "no," instead waiting for him to ask for what he wants.

It's been a bit of a struggle. Since they've started going out, it hasn't been much more than vanilla bean everything. Dates all over town and evenings spent with Castiel's project. For two months. There's no complaint on Dean's end, honestly. In fact, he's been enjoying actually getting to know the person he's with. Being with Castiel has shown him some hard truths about himself - one of them being that he'd had a bad habit of equating sexual compatibility with love. Of all his past relationships, he couldn't for a million dollars say what their favorite color, food, flower, movie, music, or season was. He can name, in great detail no less, all of his former partners' favorite positions, locations, and draw a map of their erogenous zones. It's the opposite with Castiel. Dean's big enough to admit that he's had it all ass-backwards.

However, he _does_ know that Castiel likes to French kiss until he can barely breathe. When he finally comes up for air, Dean murmurs, "you're blue."

Castiel's eyes are completely unfocused. He slurs, "what?"

"Your grace," Dean clarifies, taking the time to peck small kisses across Castiel's cheek to his smoothly shaved neck since the guy seems extra pliant in his arms today.

His suspicions are confirmed when Castiel makes a small whine and angles his head to the side, fingers gripping tightly on Dean's shoulders. "Are you sure you're not saying that because it matches my eyes?" he asks breathlessly. "What if it's red? Or purple?"

"It's not," Dean answers confidentially, nipping at Castiel's earlobe, making him jump slightly and arch closer. "It's blue and soothing like the ocean."

"Blue and green do look amazing together," Castiel demurs, pushing up against Dean and letting his nimble hands wander. Dean's gotten used to the way that Castiel's fingers feel painting on him, but this is not that. This is _so_ not that. This lights him on fire from the inside out, though it's cleansing just like the painting. Castiel's unmaking him and remaking him; engineering his body to perfect expression, and very little in Dean's life has felt as good as this. Even better when Castiel bangs them up against the front door, suddenly inspired with confidence and shoves his hands under Dean's shirt, warm against him, blunt nails digging into his skin, eyes blazing when they lock onto Dean's, both of them heaving breaths with only an inch of space between them and a precipice in front of them. The moment is frozen and Dean's heart pounds wildly at it.

" _NO_!" A voice yells from the hall. "No, no, absolutely no! What are the house rules?!"

Castiel reluctantly releases Dean, clearly not embarrassed at getting caught. He doesn't even look at Gabriel, unable to rip his predatory gaze away from Dean as he recites, "sex is to be had behind closed doors at all times so as not to burn the eyes out of either house resident."

Dean grins and Castiel grins back.

"Not that I ain't thrilled to see you happy in all sorts of ways, but... no. Go somewhere else."

"Technically we're behind closed doors now," Castiel points to the front door.

"Your sexual awakening is doing nothing for your bad personality," Gabriel says. But he sounds proud. "Go to your room, young man."

Castiel grabs Dean's hand. "Dean." A heavier kind of intent settles over his face. "I believe I'm amenable to having sex with you, if you feel the same."

In a tiny voice behind them, Gabriel let's out a strangled, "oh, my God."

Dean ignores him since he can't look away anyhow and says, "I definitely feel the same."

Smile warming, Castiel asks, "can we go downstairs?"

"Thought you'd never ask," Dean winks.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/106519177@N08/38536042546/in/dateposted-friend/)

In the blink of an eye, Castiel has Dean's hand, dragging him quickly through the basement door and down the stairs to the space that Dean's started to consider "their place." Once they're safely in the basement, Castiel is right on Dean again, kissing him, tugging at his clothes, _starving_ for him. He's not shy about removing Dean's clothes anymore since they've done this song and dance dozens of times already, but this time, Castiel's hands are shaking a little and Dean's helping the painter out of his own shirt, too.

By the time Dean's clothes are completely removed, Castiel stops, gaze raking over Dean's whole body. "Paint," he murmurs as he licks his lips and reaches out hesitantly to run his long fingers lightly over the head of Dean's semi-hard cock.

Dean shivers and moans softly. "Yeah," he whispers, pushing his hand into Castiel's hair. "Just not on the dick, all right?"

Castiel chuckles, grabbing his paint bowls. "I have other plans for _that_. If you're okay with it?"

"I'm so okay with everything you're doing, you have no idea," Dean gasps when Castiel dumps some of the blue and green paint into separate bowls.

"Good. I've dreamed about this." Castiel picks up a slender paintbrush, dips it in green. Blindly he begins to swirl delicate lines and whorls down Dean's bare arms as their lips meet.

Dean barely dares to move. Every line leaves a cold trail in its wake, though it feels extra fantastic on his overheated skin. He inclines his head to the side to deepen the kiss, trembling with restraint as he feels the featherlight brush sweep up over his neck at the same time Castiel's tongue delves into his mouth. Dean loses track while they’re making out, only brought back because Castiel pulls away, eyes still closed, sighs, and drops to his knees.

_Oh, God._ It's like sensory overload, and Dean is so hard he might actually pass out. He keeps watching, though. As much as he can, but he's overwhelmed by Castiel dragging his left hand through the blue paint bowl and then reaching out, grabbing Dean's ass, unceremoniously pulling him closer. His full lips part, and with no pretence whatsoever, draws the tip of Dean's leaking cock into his mouth.

"Holy shit," Dean breathes at the sudden wet heat. "Cas, shit! Shitshitshit!"

Castiel sucks him down deeper. His fingers trail down Dean's legs, back up his torso, mixing blue with the green, Dean reveling in how he can feel the tacky paint in the form of Castiel's handprint on his ass. He'd think it was kind of silly if he hadn't been so sure that his brain is currently being sucked out through his dick. His legs wobble, and he whimpers.

Castiel pulls off. "Careful," he warns, voice slightly hoarse. Then he starts to shimmy back towards the sofa on his knees until he can't go any further. Thankful, Dean leans over the top of Castiel's head to splay his hands against the back of the couch. It's not entirely comfortable, but it's keeping him upright and from smudging the paint.

Panting with the effort to keep in control, Dean peers down between his shoulders at his boyfriend's upturned face. "You don't have to do this if it's not something you want."

Castiel's face eases into an affectionate expression. "I want to. I have proof." Heedless of the paint he's getting on his pants and unbuttoned shirt, Castiel pops the fastenings on his jeans, pushing them and his boxers down over his thighs as far as he can kneeling. His hard length bobs up towards his stomach. "I'm so turned on, Dean."

Dean flashes a grin. "You're so hot. Wanna come with me?"

"I intend to," Castiel says seriously, though his eyes shine with a mix of lust and mirth. His clean right hand closes around his own hardness and he starts to jack himself off clumsily, twisting his wrist, experimenting with grip and speed until he gasps shortly after finding the right mix.

"That's it," Dean encourages lowly. "You look great doing that."

"Been a while," Castiel says breathlessly. "I haven't been... _mph_ horny enough to bother in a very long time."

Then it's enough talk. With a drawn out moan, Castiel keeps fucking into his own fist, head dipping down again, licking hungrily along Dean's dick like he's memorizing the taste and texture.

Dean's coherency flies right out the window. All he can do is clench the back out of the couch, swear a lot, and offer muddled encouragement when Castiel engulfs him again, nearly all the way down. Despite having little to no experience here, Castiel's gag reflex is next to nothing. God, it's sexy.

There's no way for it to last. Dean's felt a bit of guilt over lusting after a guy who might never be sexually attracted to him, so has been holding off on his usually plentiful solo activities. Therefore he can't fool himself into believing that he's anything besides pent up. But Castiel appears to be in the same boat as him. Skin slaps on skin faster and faster, his head bobs heavier, mouth more insistent.

"Jesus, I'm gonna come," Dean warns, whole body shaking.

Castiel hums in acknowledgement but doesn't pull off. Desperately, Dean wants to tell him to. First blow job _and_ first swallow can be a bit much, but then lightning shoots up his spine, and the earth feels like it's shaking under Dean's feet. He comes hard, filling Castiel's mouth.

And damned if he doesn't take it like a champ. Castiel pulls off halfway instinctively, and swallows hard, drawing out a shudder in Dean, then he spills between them, warmth hitting Dean's bare feet. He throws his head back onto the couch cushion, face contorted with flushed pleasure.

It's the most beautiful thing Dean's had the privilege to see, especially since he's never found anyone's orgasm face to be particularly attractive. It's just that Castiel appears to be beautiful in everything to Dean's eyes. He takes a single step to the side and grabs the camera on the far side of the couch. Castiel blinks up at him in wonder, hair a mess, wetness glistening on his lips and chin.

_Click_

"Dean!" Castiel admonishes, though he can't muster any real heat.

Dean clears his throat. "Had to." he shakes his head. Huffs a laugh. "Never seen anything like you."

Castiel climbs to his feet unsteadily. Doesn't bother to straighten his clothes, but takes a packet of wet wipes to clean the paint and come off of his hands. He takes the camera and begins snapping pictures. He gives Dean no directions, so Dean simply holds still how he's standing, a touch embarrassed at what his boyfriend could possibly be seeing in him right now. Because whatever it is, it's making him smile softly, a little distracted as he goes about his work. Dean doesn't move much except to occasionally follow Castiel with his eyes.

Only when Castiel pauses to flip through the images he's taken does the smile grow wider, satisfied. "You look beautiful against the white backdrop. Looking at these pictures I feel..." he meets Dean's eyes and beams openly. "I feel exactly the same as when I'm looking at you in real life."

Dean can't stop the heat from reaching his cheeks as Castiel goes back to taking photos, but he senses he's been given permission to speak and move a little, so he shifts his weight and says, "you don't get embarrassed to say what you're thinking, do you?"

"Why would I?" Castiel returns, fiddling with some camera settings. "They're my thoughts. I don't think there's anything shameful in them. However, if it's awkward to you, I can keep them to myself. It's just that it's easy for me to be completely honest with you."

Shaking his head, Dean says, "I like that about you. The best people in our lives are the ones we can learn from. People who challenge us to be better because they see all the good that we can't see in ourselves all the time. People who'll tell us how it is because we won't think less of them for it."

Castiel chuckles a little. "I don't see only good in you."

"That's fine," Dean laughs. "It's be pretty lonely up on a pedestal."

"Never said I didn't do that anyway," Castiel smirks. "Perfection is boring. The flaws are what makes life interesting. Flaws are why we create art."

Dean shimmies from side to side, working blood back into muscles gone stiff from making like a statue. "When I was a freshman, my intro to color theory teacher said that I laid pigments down like I was screaming at something internally."

Castiel arches an interested eyebrow. "Were you?" He holds out the wet wipes and a towel, satisfied with the work they've done today.

"Probably," Dean admits, starting to wipe himself off from the bottom up. He pulls his boxers on first once his lower half is clean. "Back then, I didn't think I'd even go to college. Only applied on a whim after I got my GED. Keep the momentum going, I guess. I felt like I could do anything for a minute. Then I got accepted and had a freaking panic attack. Didn't know shit about art."

"I'm sure your portfolio said otherwise," Castiel points out, content to sit on the sofa watching Dean clean himself up. "Raw talent is how all of us got here. Potential."

Chest clean, Dean holds out the packet to Castiel and sits beside him, facing away. "I never took art in high school or even checked out an art book from the library before," he tells the wall. "I took shop until I dropped out. First few days of class, it got pretty clear that I was already left in the dust. And the rest I didn't give a shit about."

Castiel laughs, not mocking, but like he totally understands. Carefully, he scrubs at Dean's back. "The art school crisis of faith. Most of us have had it when we realize that our craft is as much work as it is love."

Dean's muscles jump under Castiel's hands, ticklish in spots. "God, you're right. I had to try _so hard_ to catch up to everyone. Felt like a failure half the time. But I'd spent so much fucking _money_ on the books, tuition, a decent laptop, art supplies. I basically got through the first year on pure stubbornness. I've never known how to waste a dollar." He takes his shirt from Castiel and pulls it on.

"That's as good a reason as any to get through the worst of it. Everyone ends up over their heads eventually. Mine was junior year. I was taking some core classes with my upper levels. Winter break, my family went to the beach. I got so angry at algebra that I almost chucked the damn book into the ocean. Thought it was going to be the sole reason I would never get my degree."

They're both laughing by the end of their stories. "College sucks," Dean chuckles. 

"And you're the idiot going for his Master's."

Dean shrugs. "Cain's helping me pay for it through my apprenticeship at his studio. The rest is financial aid. Cain says he'll take me on full time if I do it."

Castiel threads their fingers together, studying the paint under the nails. "Is that what you want for the rest of your life?"

"Who the hell cares?" Dean chortles. "It's what I want _now_. Who can plan for forever?"

Castiel seems saddened by that. "I've been trying for that. It's why I've been so stressed about this project. I'd like to go out with a bang, as it were."

Dean slips his arm up Castiel's back to his shoulders and pulls him closer. "Cas, the best thing about being alive is figuring it all out. No one knows what'll happen later, so we do the best we can with the skills and desires we got. If they change, we change, too. Adapt. Find other stuff to do. Nothing has to be good enough for forever. Just good enough for now."

"I suck at that," Castiel mumbles into Dean's shoulder. "I'm always stressed because I can't adapt. I just want to be right and keep moving along."

"Where's the fun in _that_?" Dean says lightly.

"I never even wondered about it until I met you," Castiel answers the rhetorical question with complete sincerity. "Art stopped being fun for me a long time ago. It's been so tedious."

Dean kisses the top of Castiel's head. "But you kept at it. That's not nothing."

Castiel turns his head up for a real kiss that lingers tenderly. "I kept hoping I'd get the spark back. I had faith in that. God gave me a love of art deep enough to make it my life for a reason. All that practice and improvement for nothing? I couldn't accept that."

Dean nods around at the studio. Full of Castiel's art in various stages of completion. "Looks like you got it back somehow."

Huffing a laugh, Castiel says slyly, "you came into that classroom a few months ago and took off all your clothes."

"I'm glad my nakedness was inspiring," he jokes.

Castiel tilts to the side, falling lengthwise on the couch and takes Dean with him. They spread out as best they can crammed together, Dean big spoon, hand firm over Castiel's heart. "I was right, though. And every day you've inspired me more. I'm falling in love with my art again the same way I'm falling in love with you. That's what's 'not nothing' to me."

They're silent for a while. Dean hasn't spent much time motionless in ever, either on his own, or with other people. He is with Castiel. Lets the peace take its time. 

"Wanna show you something," he murmurs when it feels appropriate to speak again. Castiel nods, bumping his head a little against Dean's chin. Dean rolls up and over to grab his messenger bag on the work table. He brings back his sketchbook and sits on the ground. Flips to the page he wants and passes the book over his head. Castiel accepts it, taking his time to study the drawing.

"Is this tattoo you've been designing?"

"Yeah. It's my biggest art block ever."

"It's beautiful." Castiel traces the outlines with the tips of his fingers.

"I've been thinking about it lately. Wondering if maybe you could..." he trails off uncertainly.

Castiel traces the images over and over. The blackwork around the stark, stylized images of what he makes out to be angels and demons at war. Or similar beings. None of the characters have wings, but the feathers scattered around the images alludes to them. He wouldn't presume religious iconography with Dean, but it's an easy interpretation from Castiel's point of view. "What could I possibly help with here?"

"Maybe nothing," Dean admits and scratches at his ear. "How 'bout this: what would you change if it were your work?"

"I wouldn't change anyone's art," Castiel says, sounding mildly offended. "It's yours."

"Yeah, but it doesn't _mean_ anything to me yet. That's why I've been fucking with it for ages. Sketching the outlines was easy when I got the idea. But... that's it. I kinda felt like you'd be able to kickstart me like I did for you."

"Well, if you really wanted, I'll do what I can. I want to help," he assures Dean and sits up to better study the design. "I don't know anything about tattoo art, though."

Dean shrugs. "These days, you don't really have to. There's not so many color or style restrictions anymore. Only size restrictions."

Nodding thoughtfully at that, Castiel asks, "what part of the body is this meant to go on?"

"My back."

" _Your_ back? This is the personal design you've been working on for so long?"

"Yeah."

"It's very ambitious for a first tattoo."

"I can't do things halfway," Dean says sheepishly. "And Cain said the other day he'd be happy to do the ink whenever I'm ready, even if it was after hours. It'll be amazing if I can just get it right."

Castiel says nothing to that, brow furrowed.

Dean shifts up to sit next to him again. "Guess I should have asked if you were opposed to designing body art or not. You don't have to help if you don't want to."

Castiel looks up and blinks like he's bringing the world back into focus. "Not at all," he says. "I marvel at people who are brave enough to put permanent art on themselves. I'm not sure I've liked anything enough to do that, but that doesn't mean I disapprove."

Leaning back, Dean says, "sometimes it's not about liking it enough. Sometimes it's just about it having enough meaning."

"Does this piece?"

"I'm trying to get it there."

"I have a suggestion," Castiel ventures shyly.

Dean tucks his legs up and leans forward excitedly. "Go for it."

Castiel points to the blackwork. "If I were designing this, I'd get rid of all the black. The solid blocks of it. I see what you're trying to do by separating the... angel and the demons? Good guys and bad guys? But all the other parts are so delicate and flowing. The black separates things too much."

"I've played with that idea before," Dean says. He reaches over to turn a few more pages. It's an earlier sketch with everything except the blackwork. "And... the angel-looking characters represent my mom and dad." He slides his finger over to the demons. "This character represents the fire that took her... here the car accident that took him."

"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel murmurs.

He shrugs a little. "This is sort of my tribute to them. Art's helped me cope all these years."

Castiel smiles like he knows and gives Dean a heartfelt kiss. Then he peers at the drawing again for a long time. "If I were more full of myself, I'd say this would look wonderful with some swirls of grace around." He offers Dean a teasing smile, but Dean is considering.

"Show me," he says. "Please."

Hesitantly, Castiel takes a pencil from the work table and holds it over the sketchbook. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," Dean answers. "I think a bit of a collaboration would be awesome."

Castiel puts pencil to paper but doesn't move yet. "Dean," he says carefully. "This is going to be on your body permanently. What if... what if we... and you don't want my contribution anymore... and..."

Dean holds up his hand to stop Castiel's stuttering explanation. "It's fine. Dude, don't you remember how we just talked about things being enough for right now? It's not about whether it lasts forever even when the tattoo will. I mean, sure, I'll always think about you when I see it from here on out, but I'm fine with that."

Castiel stares at him incredulously. "What if we end badly?"

"Same thing. Doesn't mean we wouldn't have happened. Doesn't mean we haven't had all this good shit already. No matter how badly it ends, _if_ it ends, right now it's awesome, and that's enough. It'll always be enough for me not to regret you collaborating with me."

Castiel's smile is a touch wistful. "You know, most people try not to think too hard about how the things they experience will affect them for the rest of their lives."

Dean reaches over to the end table and grabs the bucket of colored pencils, handing them off to Castiel, and he exchanges the graphite for red and purple pencils. "Some things do and some things don't, right? Not even the people you date, sometimes. Hell, I don't remember the names of some of the people I took out back in the day. But with you?" He tilts a shoulder up. "You'll stick in some way or another. I can tell. You already have."

Maybe emboldened, or maybe convinced, Castiel starts to draw with the colored pencils, quick, sure strokes over the page. "I feel the same way about you. And for the record, I'm not trying to end things before they begin." He snorts. "You know, _again_."

Dean laughs. "It's already begun, so that's not the real issue anymore." Dutifully he restrains himself from being annoying and peeking over Castiel's shoulder. "How about this? We go one day at a time and admit that no matter what happens, we'll remember each other."

"That's easy to agree to," Castiel smiles idly, confident hand sweeping lines and swirls around Dean's drawings. Warm colors, cool colors, Castiel only pauses drawing to switch out pencils. It doesn't take him long, and sooner rather than later, he's passed the sketchbook back. Dean takes it and then studies the drawing for several minutes, memorizing every single line; his own as well as Castiel's additions.

"This is incredible," he murmurs. "You were right. The black was too much. But this... it's perfect." His eyes flick up shining with sincerity. "I'm a little pissed you solved what felt like a ten thousand piece puzzle in ten seconds, though."

"It's always easier when you're the second pair of eyes," Castiel says. "Besides, it's equal trade. You solved my problem, too."

"Good thing we get along so well," Dean says with a teasing lilt.

"Yes, it is," Castiel agrees fondly.

***

Time has a funny way of moving in fits and starts when everything is going so well. And Dean likes the way that it's been moving. It's quick at work and during classes, almost as if the universe is as excited for him to get back to the important things, too. The time with Castiel is slow like rich molasses. The project is coming to a close and more often than not, they sit side by side on the sofa in the studio, Dean with his classwork or sketchpad, Castiel with his laptop, sifting through and editing his photographs. It would probably be more comfortable in Castiel's room, but Gabriel is nosy except for the basement, and there's a fine setup for the laptop and drawing tablet at the desk in the corner.

Neither of them have left anything to the last minute, but during finals week, Castiel rage bakes through the overnight hours twice while Dean pretends to help, only to fall asleep at the table both times.

But then it's past them and the art show is upon them.

The senior art show is a Big Freaking Deal, not just for the college in general, but also for the community. It's become one of those events that everyone in town attends during the weekend, and the school makes a good deal of money selling tickets to the opening. It's usually sold out the same day the tickets go on sale.

As a participating artist, Castiel can take a plus one, and has dumped the mildly protesting Gabriel in favor of his muse. Dean's more than happy to flip Gabriel off with a grin as he and Castiel dress in their suits for the occasion.

It's a nice night; warm and slightly breezy, and parking anywhere near the gallery on campus will be a bitch, so they hold hands and walk the several blocks with plenty of time to spare before the doors open to the public.

"Have you seen anyone else's stuff?" Dean asks as they meander down the sidewalk, enjoying the sunset.

"Not any final projects, no, but I've seen some early things, and most of us have been talking about our projects a lot. But I'll be as surprised as you are seeing them all."

Dean smiles. "Who's the favorite to win the showcase?"

Castiel arches an eyebrow. "I wouldn't know," he says.

"Sure you would," Dean counters. "One of the biggest things that goes around during finals is the gossip about the showcase winner. Come on, you have to _at least_ know who's in the top five."

"I do," Castiel answers.

They make it another block before Dean sighs. "Gonna give me a hint, or what?"

"I hate gossip," he says petulantly.

Dean stops, dragging Castiel to a halt with him. Sighing, Castiel turns and rolls his eyes at Dean's exquisite grin. "You're a front runner," he exclaims. "You're a fucking shoe-in!"

Castiel ducks his head, ears burning pink. "As much as I'd like to, I can't avoid all the talk that goes around. Yes, my name's been tossed around a few times."

Dean tugs Castiel closer. "Come on, man, out of a hundred students? That's amazing! I wasn't anywhere near the top fifty when I graduated!" He's nothing but pleased for his boyfriend.

Castiel makes a dissenting noise. "That's why I hate the contest. You should have won. Your art was transcendent. Far more meaningful than anyone else's. Your whole graduating class was more interested in mass market appeal than anything else."

"That's kind of the point," Dean chuckles. "Everyone in my department is in graphic design. It's _supposed_ to have mass market appeal."

"Yours was still the best," Castiel huffs.

Dean draws his boyfriend closer with an affectionate smile. "I didn't care about winning at all." He tilts his head in question, and Castiel goes in willingly for a kiss that lingers. God, they're so good together.

Castiel leans back, his own smile mostly in his eyes. "Then why are you so concerned with me doing so?"

Dean won't let him pull away, instead kissing the corner of his jaw. "Because it'd be awesome. I'd be so proud."

The grin spreads to Castiel’s mouth. "Ah, you're biased as the subject of my project."

"That, too." He faces them back towards the campus, and soon enough they're there just in time for the doors opening to the private viewing for the participants. There are a smattering of other seniors and plus ones, but the crowds will show up soon enough. 

Dr. Hanscum stands front and center to welcome them. "Come on in and meet your fate," she says cheerfully.

And she doesn't leave them in suspense. She steps aside immediately and they begin to filter in one after another.

Dean holds tight to Castiel's hand as they step over the threshold, deciding to break to the left since most people are going right.

Dean's first impression is that the students have really stepped up their game. Paintings, drawings, sculptures, photographs, multimedia collaborations, the works. He takes his time perusing everything, slowly moving towards the back room. Castiel hasn't shown him his final work, so he doesn't know exactly what he's looking for, but it's not in the forward rooms that they meander through.

The back room has fewer pieces on display. It's for the superlative projects selected by the department professors for special awards. Dean doesn't see any of them except for one, and Castiel pulls up to his side with a small, "oh."

Dead center on the back wall, in the place of honor, is a large collection of colorful photographs.

Castiel's piece. It's breathtaking all put together. The photographs are arranged into the shape of a Celtic cross, held together by a painted wire frame delicately twisted and woven just like the strands of grace he'd drawn on Dean's body. The photographs are of various sizes and shapes, Dean in every last one of them. Except... Dean takes a step closer. He's _not_ in all of them. Some are just Castiel. It's a picture diary of his feelings. A love note of how they'd come together.

Where on the right arm of the cross and photographs of Dean being painted on; laughing, serious, distracted, eyes open, eyes closed, half clothed, completely nude, standing straight, reaching his arm out towards the center of the cross, veins outlined in green.

On the left side, Castiel in similar poses, though he's... nervous? Every picture makes it appear as though he's looking towards the photographs of Dean. Painting on his own arms with brushes and fingers. Gradually into a state of undress as well.

And in the center. Dean covers his mouth to prevent himself from making an embarrassing noise. He remembers these photographs better than any of the others, save for the more erotic ones down the leg of the cross, of their intimate time together where they'd painted on each other. But the photos in the center are from the day after they'd been to the lake. Where they'd agreed to fall in love. Sitting on the couch. Holding hands. Smiling at each other. Kissing. It's far more intimate than the erotic photos.

It's their lives together until this very moment.

Dean can't bring himself to look away even when he can feel Castiel come up beside him. "Dean," he says softly, entwining their fingers.

"Cas, this is..." he has no words for it. He's overfilled. Overwhelmed. Over the freaking moon. 

"It's how I feel," he says simply. "How I've always _wanted_ to feel. You've made me feel very brave. Connected. I hope I've shown it properly."

"Fuck, you _have_ ," Dean murmurs. "I get it." Connecting two souls or the grace from their souls, or whatever it is, isn't the cheesy shit Dean's been led to believe. Maybe he's an idiot for needing it laid out so plainly for him to truly understand, but at least he _does_ now. It's not nervousness on Castiel's face in his solo photographs. It's _longing_. For the blue to meet green. Mix. Maybe become something more turquoise. The feeling that it's not just _you_ anymore, even when you're alone. Dean gets it. He never really did before. But it feels like he takes a part of Castiel with him and leaves a part of himself behind whenever they're not together. It's why he feels a sense of _relief_ when they're back together. 

When he's able to tear his attention away to look at Castiel, his boyfriend's expression is understanding. "It's how I feel," he says again.

"I'm glad you love me like this." He gestures to the cross. "Thankful."

"Good," Castiel smiles, "because I do love you like that."

"I love you like that, too." Dean clears his throat, a little embarrassed. "Hell of a love letter," he says gruffly.

"Go big or go home," Castiel says boldly.

Dean laughs. "We should do it again sometime."

"Anytime," Castiel agrees readily. "I look forward to it."

"Me, too, Cas," Dean says, gaze drawn back to the art. "Me, too."


End file.
